


Tales of Artorian

by Download077



Series: Child of Jörmungandr [3]
Category: Overlord - Maruyama Kugane & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fantasy, Reader Insert, Slow Build, character driven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:30:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Download077/pseuds/Download077
Summary: Momonga remains at Nazarick until the end.And you?You just wanted to see the sunset on Midgard one last time....You should have stayed back at Nazarick.Never once did you think that you would find yourself so far away from home.





	1. Chasm Strider

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely readers! Starting off? Author regrets _nothing._
> 
> Fun fact! When I started writing Child of Jörmungandr back in November of 2018 this was my first idea for the fic! I have been sitting on this plotline/AU for months and finally decided to bring it forth. 
> 
> Child of Jörmungandr is still my main focus. However, this series will update on the side when I need to take a break from the main series.

# 

⚔️  𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓  ⚔️

_ Child of Jörmungandr AU  _

_ Chapter one  _

 Chasm Strider **_  
_**

**_________**

 “I'm a shadow apart

Passed through time and the dark.”

_ Let there be fire  _

_ The Aviators  _

* * *

 

Nestled in the center of a medieval castle flags bearing Midgard’s world serpent clap about in the afternoon wind. Silver doves set on a timed cycle call their sultry song across the sky. Unless disturbed, the doves will land on the castles surrounding crenelations and roost. It was a past time favorite of yours to climb up the walls so you could observe them up close. You always enjoyed their detailed animations and how pudgy the developers designed them to be.

Warm amber rays of the setting sun paint the once bustling streets of Midgard’s trading area and gathering hub. Known as Ash and Elm, this was the second and more successful social space designed on Midgard. We don’t talk about the one the developers made first, the one on Rainbow bridge? Yeahhh, once players found out how to glitch through the world map and pop into Asgard without using a Cash Shop item or MP the developers were quick to patch that right up.

And as with all games first starting out patching leads to more glitches, which turn into exploits, which end in bans. Then the players riot while the developers throw their hands up in the air and shut the whole thing down to rebuild it from the ground up.

Bad times.

NPC humans dressed in peasants clothing sweep at the same piles of dust and debris. Freakin' adorable, really. When you get close enough you can hear them humming a tune to themselves. Two children, boy and girl, laugh as they play an endless game of hide and seek around Ash and Elms main attraction.

As an ode to the log that formed humanity in Midgard, an oak tree stands proud in its personal garden. Arcane symbols that mark that Ash and Elm is a none PVP zone pulse dimly in around the oaks planter box. Silver doves coo in their nests at the trees topmost branches. It;s during times like these that you love Midgard the most. Autumn. When the sun shines just right? The oak tree appears set ablaze through all of its many red, yellow, and orange leaves.

Your favorite thing here, though? Sprinkles of roses that skirt the trees trunk. Their juicy red petals and a dew drops never failed to make you happy. You always wished you could pick them, actually. When you first started playing four years ago you tried, and much to your disappointment your hand only phased through them.

Oh well, at least you could still climb the tree and read weapon lore. It was just so peaceful, better than home, and sometimes you would fall asleep and get booted manually from Yggdrasil due to inactivity. That was another pastime treasure, and maybe...maybe that's why you find yourself here of all places on Yggdrasil’s last day instead of Nazarick.

Once accessible doors with seating areas have been permanently locked down with lines of red text that read _‘Thank you for playing!’_. NPC’s that once offered city quests now only stand in stasis without a line of dialogue to be spoken. In game currency and Microtransaction market stalls have lost their in game button prompts for purchase of Yggdrasil’s last week _buy it before it’s gone!_ limited time event.

Cruel sense of irony.

You thought it was kinda an add insult to injury  type of event, but not even you could resist buying one last thing. Sure, you'd spent money on cash items and gambled on trying to get rare equipment in the past, but purchasing a full armor set?

Not only was it expensive, but it never felt really earned. Honestly? You always thought it was a crap tactic. It was something you disliked about Yggdrasil. You preferred to go out and grind the materials or farm monsters for drops over purchasing weapons and armor. What's the use in playing the game if you just buy everything? It gets boring that way. That and...

Pay to win just felt, well, cheap!

…It didn’t stop you from doing it. Hypocrite.

Ya see, there was an armor set you had always wanted but never got to drop. It was one of those less than one percent chance types.The cash shop would sell it once or twice a year for more money than what god himself could afford. So of course, naturally, the developers would offer it up seventy five percent off during Yggdrasil’s final week before going dark.

The Chasm Strider set.

The armor piece, to you, always carried a sense of mystery and somber that best fit its lore card.

 

_“..For the one consumed; For the one who strides the deep; For the one who..”_

_ Flavor text  _

 

From the greaves to the cuisse fine etchings of plum filigree detail spaced sheets of steel. Gun metal pointed pauldrons sit proudly on the wearers shoulders. Heavy thigh plating worn as a skirt, split wide down the middle, flows down to just above the knee guards. Chain-mail and frayed purple fabric spill from underneath the thigh plating and sway just above Chasm Striders boots.

Atop the helmet waving as a worn flag Chasm Striders sweeping plume blossoms with a long braid of torn cloth. Strategically placed oval eye slits in the spartan style helmet assure for maximum protection against critical hits on the wearers head. Other than those divots the helmet is a fortress of darksteel imbued with the magic spell [Hidden] that covers the users eyes in a fog. Helps prevent those min max crazy PVP builders from spotting your target trajectory.

Falling from the nose piece like a veil down to wrap around the users neck a scarf pools and folds over the top third of the breast plate. The fabric swoops back up and over the shoulder guards to trail behind as a tired cape.

You thought it was freakin’ awesome!

You had gawked at the Chasm strider set for years. Ever since they dropped the Dismal Spirits DLC for Helheim to be precise. Really though, what fool would buy something they would never get to use?

...Well. It was a last moment of triumph and no one but you would know so damn straight you bought it. _It was seventy five percent off._

You would be a fool to not buy it at that price, right?

Chasm Strider’s darksteel boots click against the cobblestone path as you make your way out of Ash and Elm. Autumn leaves rustle in the wind around you as Migard’s castle doors part to allow its last visitor a final exit.

You take a tentative step outside. A volley of disturbed silver doves fly away as they too abandon the lonely fortress as the gates close. Your chest feels hollow as you soak in Ash and Elm for the last time. You will never see anything like it again, not like this at least.

You draw a circle in the air with your index finger and an ethereal blue text box forms in a sprinkle of light. You swipe your hand over the selection of spells as you have done so many times before. You punch your finger through [Greater Teleportation] for there is still one last place you want to see.

Just one more sunset.

 

[Greater Teleportation]

 

Cerulean waters dyed with shades of gold purl against the cliffside. Pink sands below glint and twinkle in the setting suns streaks of light. Off in the distance specks of sea life jump and chirp through ocean waves.

You place a hand down before taking your seat upon the grassy cliff edge just before rainbow road. Your armor bends with your body fluidly as you cross your legs and watch the final dawning of Migards sun. You pull up your HUD to check the time, and if you remember correctly, here in about five or so minutes Midgard’s world enemy will raise a coil from the sea. It was a graphics update voted for online by viewers. That if so many people spent this much the developers as a _thank you for your support_ would add in glimpses of each of the nine worlds respective raid bosses.

In Muspelheim Surtr at midday can be seen carrying his flamberge across his back as he paces the many rivers of fire encircling the Heart of Muspelheim raid entrance.

Every few days rather than every day, during randomly generated thunderstorms on Asgard, Odin will show his stoic face through rain clouds. Some people have said that if you managed to see Odin you were granted a buff on increased drop rates, but no one could ever confirm it.

One of the rarer sights was Hela, who roams through the mists of Helheim as nothing more than a lonely phantom holding a single pale rose. You and Momonga nearly fainted when she once strode the skirts of Nazarick when the update first dropped. Not many know this, but if you got close enough to her you could hear her whispering.

And it is here on Midgard that you watch as Jörmungandr’s tail lazily swallows the sun for a final time. Jörmungandr ends the day to bring a blanket of night as he slips back to the sea without a sound. You raise a hand and wave goodbye, sure to store all of these little memories as trinkets in the treasure box of your mind. These last few precious moments that belong to you and no one else.

Soft blades of grass give way to the shape of your body as you allow yourself to fall to your side.  This is...really it. Yggdrasil is facing Ragnarok and at the end when the clock strikes midnight? You get to return to another dying world riddled with the incurable plague of corporate greed and not enough food. Sigh. What do you do now?

_There isn’t even going to be an offline mode..._

You dig your sword out of your scabbard to give it a few more once overs. Maternal hands pet the blade from hilt to spade shaped point. The tips of your fingers sing in pleasing vibrations along your swords precious metals and hand crafted edges.

Kingslayer.

 

_“Bane of the unjust ruler; Herald of Ordinance.”_

_ Flavor text  _

 

Kingslayer has done as you named it. This sword has been with you across worlds and has tasted the victory of thousands. Oval amethysts in clusters decorate each side of the blades fuller, each meant to represent an accomplishment made in Yggdrasil. Whether it was collecting achievements, earning a superfluous amount of gold for Nazarick, or unlocking lore cards you wanted to stamp your mark somewhere. And where better than your sword that you wear proudly on your hip?

You had no need for any other weapon, not with your build. Your job class Code of the Commander made all weapons other than swords impossible to use. You could not outfit yourself with them even if you tried. Similar to the roses in Ash and Elm your hand would simply phase through Halberds, Crossbows, and others of the like. However in this trade off you could equip any blade regardless of level, weight, or make.

Through all your time in Yggdrasil, through all your swords that you either tried to craft or obtained from drops, you _always_ returned to Kingslayer. Nothing felt just as right as Kingslayer did. Some swords may have hit harder or had better stats, but it was the weight of the blade in your hands that mattered. You forged it yourself, after all.

Damn, you wish you could take it with you. Hang it over your computer on a mantle as one would a nobel prize or national treasure.

Your magnum opus.

You just want something to remember this all by other than your memories. Something to let you know of the other life you lived as a Warden of Dawn other than a glorified secretary at a photography studio that sometimes gets to edit portraits.

Maybe on your next paycheck you will buy yourself a necklace with a dragon on it, a token of your heteromorphic race as a Child of the World serpent. Something to keep with you on your person as you have Kingslayer. Perhaps you can even hunt down a poster of Jörmungandr for that sloppy husk riddled with energy drink cans that is your bedroom.

Ugh you do not want to go to work tomorrow. Even if Yggdrasil’s dive system is only nearing ten percent and numbed to the point of sensory deprivation it can not stop you from feeling tired. You have been pulling all nighters back to back all week in an attempt to soak up every second of this game like a sponge before it ends.

You feel like a trash can in the shell of a mortal god. Soon you will just be a trash can. Ouch. You wonder how Momonga is taking this and if he is okay. He has work tomorrow also, and you want to shoot him a quick [Message] but you do not want to interrupt his sulking. You both agreed to take this last day to yourselves.

As much as you would love to head back to Nazarick and complain with him about the game ending there are two things holding you back. You do not want to see it all disappear and you do not want to muddle his last few moments in the great tomb by moaning about how you will miss it. He does not need that right now.

You will email him tomorrow to see how he is doing. Hopefully he answers. He is great about communication in Yggdrasil but not so great out of it.

Kingslayer’s marbled pommel glitters in the starlight of Midgard’s ebony night as you stake the tip through the ground. You draw a quick triangle in the air that lights up a ghostly pink as you take a screenshot of your sword. You adjust the angles so that Kingslayer is perfectly framed by rainbow road and the cliffside, and it almost looks as if your blade is the entrance to Asgard through it’s lilac fuller.

With a blink, you stare deeply into the artificial twilight.

You blink again as you reach a lone hand up to play pretend. You pluck stars for yourself nestled in a cosmic array of distant suns that the skies back home can never imitate. To many clouds of pollution and years of an exhausted atmosphere brimming with radiation hide the beauty of space on earth.

You blink again.

You turn to face Kingslayer. It looks like what you think the fabled world item Excalibur would appear as in the way the moon light bathes it in a pale hue of yellow. You don't think you would even trade it in for...

You blink again.

The world becomes a blur in a halo of memories. Nazarick, Kingslayer, Momonga, raids, world enemies, weapon lore, Chasm strider, the setting sun…

You close your eyes.

...And like a flickering candle in a ceaseless storm, the fire fades. You drift away to somewhere between Yggdrasil and home. Your mind. Just as those quiet times in Ash and Elm upon the top most branch of the great oak, you fall asleep.

 

* * *

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* * *

 

 


	2. Alienation

⚔️  𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓  ⚔️

_Child of Jörmungandr AU _

_ Chapter two  _

 Alienation **_  
_**

**_________**

 “If you're something more than flesh,

Ascended.”

_ Godhunter  _

_The Aviators _

* * *

 

The moon hangs high in the night. Crickets chirp across the open plains of swaying wheat. Dots of clouds pregnant with precipitation roll across the sky. Your eyes flutter open as the light drizzling of rain taps against your armor. Rainwater makes its way between the hollow eye slits of your helmet. It is not unpleasantly cold but it does not prevent you from wiggling your nose in discomfort.

You inhale deeply. Your nose tickles with the rich earthy scents of rain and damp soil. Your eyes flicker over the new scene of stars above. Cracked like a geode with a hollow cavity lined with crystals the twilight sky is broad with the view of a distant galaxy.

You sit up and your armor softly clanks. You peer around slowly and well, this is new. This is the first time Yggdrasil has kept you logged in instead of manually booting you due to inactivity. Your mouth stretches wide in a yawn as you make a sweeping motion with your hand to access your HUD. You are not where you drifted off and the top left of your HUD should let you know what region of Midgard you most likely glitched into.

Your fingers flex in the air as your HUD does not appear in its usual animation. You flick your wrist harder and nothing happens.

“Huh…” The lavender cloth over your mouth wavers as you mumble. Strange. Your knees pop as you make to stand. You take a few steps forward and take notice that you have most likely fallen through the map and discovered an area the developers never planned on releasing.

It has happened to players before, just never you. You have read on several occasions where others have jumped repeatedly against one of the low textured walls in Ash and Elm and managed to either fall endlessly through the mesh or be lucky enough to bug into the third stage of Midgard’s raid The Infinite Labyrinth. You tried a few times but never got anywhere.

Figures on the last day you would find a way to do some stupidly awesome shit. You swipe your hand again irritably in the air as you try to access your HUD. Ugh, what gives? What time is it anyways? Yggdrasil should be shutting down its servers _any_ minute now.  

You make a quick triangle in the air with your index finger and nothing happens. Damn it. You would love to get a few screenshots of this and upload them to Yggdrasil’s website as a _‘Haha look what I found on the final hour’_ post. You would totally get a bunch of hits for this.

You sigh. You spin in a slow circle and all you see are seemingly endless fields of long stems of wheat straw. You scratch through the divot in your helmet as above your eyebrow vibrates. You wince and shake your head, it feels like a mosquito is furiously buzzing in a canal between your right ear and eyeball. You smack the side of your helmet against your temple and after a few grouchy swats the feeling goes away.

You shiver, that felt awkward. Wait. _Wait a hot second._

You stomach drops as you glance over your shoulder. You think you have forgotten how to swallow as your heartbeat accelerates. Nobody is watching you but it _feels_ like someone is.

It _feels_ …

It _feels_...you should _not_ be feeling. Not like this.

You suck on your teeth. Right before Yggdrasil announced that it would be shutting off its servers for good the developers sent out a special offer of sorts to its players. They were wanting to test their dive mechanics and raise the limits from ten percent to forty, the highest the law would permit. You of course opted in for this opportunity.

However you never received an email back and the developers at no time made mention of who they chose. Could they have finally accepted your application and upped the threshold on your dive system? No, no they wouldn’t do that so easily. You would have had to have went through a plethora of electronic signatures, liability clauses, and terms and conditions.

Let alone the legal paperwork needed for the health risks associated with raising not only your muscle memory for the dive but your cerebral connection. That is why Yggdrasil did not release sooner than twelve years ago. The company behind the game spent over a decade battling legality and health fanatics over their ambitious way of changing gaming culture.

Well, could they have switched your petition with someone else’s? It is unlikely but it would not be the first time the developers mixed up player accounts. During the notorious early stages of Yggdrasil people were hand over foot for refunds on Cash shop items that they paid for but never received. It was not uncommon for the developers at that time to accidentally refund the wrong account or make some randoms day with the gift of someone else’s promised cash shop consumable.

However this is twelve years later and on the final damn day. That and...stuff like this does not happen to you. The luckiest you have ever gotten has been ordering a six piece meal of chicken nuggets and spontaneously getting a seventh piece.

You weakly smile as you run a hand up and over the plume of your helmet, through the long braid of tattered lavender fabric, and then the air. Heh, at least you have this much more to remember this all by. You glance down to your hip and your heart leaps at seeing Kingslayer nestled in its scabbard rather than gone. When you fell asleep it was stuck into the cliff side.

Phew, looks like you struck gold thrice. You bugged through the map and discovered a hidden region, your dive has been beefed up, and somehow your sword is on your hip and glitched with you. With odds like this in your favor you should start buying lottery tickets.

You figure your best bets moving forward are to try and find a social space. Surely an area with this level of attention to detail will have a trading hub. Even if you can not access your HUD you should be able to get to a Market stall or help desk and go through the trivial fumblings of calling for a GM.

That or Yggdrasil will boot you at midnight. Which will probably come first, but hey, you would like to enjoy this for as long as you can. Who knows, maybe this section of Midgard is part of the blue print for Yggdrasil two! Man, that would be so cool! Momonga is going to be _so_ jealous.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The moon trades places with the rising sun. Every tick of light that changes the prairie of wheat from indigo reeds into crops of gold unsettles your nerves. The entirety of your stroll through the fields has been riddled with trying to access your HUD and making that annoying tickle in your head go away. There for awhile the itch above your right eye was persistent for at least twenty straight minutes. Fortunately you have not been assaulted with that unwanted twitch for the last hour.

Not so fortunate is that you know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Yggdrasil should have kicked your ass out by now. You do not mind staying in the game past its prime. No, that is preferable. It is that not knowing _why_ is starting to make your spirits cold with concern.

You hold your hand up to your forehead to shield yourself from the approach of the sun over the flat horizon. You squint your eyes and lean forward as you walk ahead. You can make out what appears to be the roof of a two story wooden colonial. You jog your way towards the home, it is possible that there is an NPC offering quests that you can request the GM call function through. They may be in stasis and their jobs unavailable, but their option to contact an admin won’t be.

Rows of well kept root vegetables decorate the inside of a small picket fence. A rugged man equipped with a hoe labors in the farm located on the backside of the wooden home. He wipes the sweat from his brow with a dirty hand as he glances towards the sun with a scowl.

His motions are too fluid for him to be an NPC. And his armor, well, he has _no_ armor. Rather, his set of dirtied villagers clothing is to custom. Burlap pants with shredded fabric at the knees, a set of worn workers boots, a straw hat, _and_ a green tunic? Yeah, that has to have been made with data crystals or is part of a human starter job class that you are not aware of. Did he just start playing today and is finishing up his first quest? Poor dude, damn.

You watch him for a bit longer as you brush a finger against Kingslayer’s leather hilt. Regardless of level he is human and typically humans and heteromorphs do not get along. You do not feel like your last act in Yggdrasil should be some unwanted PVP action. You keep your distance.

“Excuse me!” You wave your hand in the air. Chasm Striders dark steel shines brightly in the sun. “Hey! Can you help me for a sec? I can’t seem to access my HUD.” That’s right, let him come to you. Keep your hand on your sword and if he tries anything funny smite his ass.

The man takes a step over his knee high fence and stops to lean into a rest on his hoe. Tan skin with years of acne scarring canvas his face. He rolls around a single stalk of wheat in his mouth as an amused smile crawls over him. “Hud? Is that there some kinda fancy city folk talk for a water spigot?”

Holy shit his mouth is _moving._ Was there a graphics update you somehow missed? Is this part of the new area?

“Umm nooo?” You frown as you draw a rectangle in the air in an attempt to mimic what your heads up display looks like. “No, you know, a HUD? The thing that shows our status bars, time of day, and other things? Mine seems to be bugging out. I can’t get it to que up.”

“Ah ye must be one of them kings guards from Cromerth with that kinda talk. You are quite a ways away from home aren’t ye?” The man leans forward as he whistles through buck teeth. “Shoooweee that is some nice armor they be dressin’ ye up with. Are you on yer way back from a commission?”

“Commission? Oh! You mean a quest? No, not really, I…” You pause. Maybe he is one of those role playing types? You did a little bit of that on your own but never with someone else...Well, he is obviously not going to break character so you shrug as you play along. “Yeah you know what I am. Can you point me in the direction to uh...Cromerth? I uh...lost my compass? Yeah! I lost my compass.”

“Oy lass Cromerth be quite the journey from here. Even by caravan ye be lookin’ at a four days trek n’ that’s without stoppin’.”

“Oh no worries, I can just telep--” You draw a circle in the air and scoff. “Damn…” You mutter. Well, no [Greater Teleportation] for you. “Uhh...well. Heh, is there somewhere closer?”

“If ye take that dirty road down the way from me home n’ make a left at the fork in the path it’ll take ye to Aylesbury.”

Aylesbury? That must be the social space! Sweet. “Awesome, thank you very much. About how far is Aylesbury by foot?”

“Mmm ye be lookin’ at….” The man points to the sun and trails his finger to the middle of the sky. “When the sun hits that there spot you should arrive if ye make yer way towards Aylesbury now.”

You swing your arm behind you back in a bow as you summon up your best knightly impersonation. “Thank you my kind sir. Your aid is most appreciated,” You lean in and whisper before you depart. “By the way I think role playing is totally rad. You’re really good at it!”

He cracks a hoarse laugh as he shakes his head. “Aye well do be careful now. Rumor has traveled up from Aylesbury that Trogs and Lizard men be snatchin’ up townsfolk. Ye should be fair with yer wears n’ all but do keep yer eyes peeled.”

You nod as you wiggle your sword in its scabbard noisily. “I make haste towards Aylesbury then. You have my gratitude.” Trogs and Lizard men? Must be some type of random encounter event.

You part ways with a fist raised in the air as you make your way down to Aylesbury. You grin behind your helmet as you strut forward with a pep in your step. Role playing is totally awesome and maybe if Yggdrasil two is an upcoming thing you can pester Momonga into some of it.

 

* * *

 

  
By the time you have made it to Aylesbury your greaves are chalked tan and the bottom bits of your flowing tasset are filthy. Two poorly constructed wooden beams hold up a loose sign by a chain that reads _‘Welcome’_ as you step into the town. Your eyes dart around the humble beginnings looking social space and a pit forms in your belly. The dusty streets are riddled with life, laughter, and the smell of baked goods.  

Something is off. Way off.

These are not NPC’s.

They can’t be.

None of them have repeated actions and their outfits are just as custom as the guy you met earlier.

There is no way they are players either. There is no way they are all _players._ Even at its busiest a social space could never host more than thirty users due to lag. Without counting you can tell there are well over thirty people here.

You place an unsteady hand down on a wooden bench as you take your seat. Beside you sits a trough of water rife with a collection of algae floating across its surface. You lick your lips and your throat feels caked in sand.

You look down to your hands as you hypnotize yourself in the way you scratch your thumbs against the dark leather of your palms. Your dive should not register thirst. That is a status effect and not an actual part of the dive mechanic. There were strict dealings with what the developers of Yggdrasil could and could not permit when it came to all that players could experience in game.

That and…technology has yet to even make it that far.

You place a hand up to your head to steady yourself. Your mind races. Either you are dreaming or someone slipped you some serious drugs while you were diving.

There is a soft tug on the fabric of your chain skirt. You inhale through your nose as you look up into the hazelnut eyes of a dirty women in an even dirtier apron. “I am sorry to bother you, but are you possibly a member of the mercenaries union?”

You shake your head no. Your blood runs cold as you study how her face moves so naturally. From the curve of her lips, the twitch of her nose, down to how her cheeks lift as her soft spoken voice reaches out to you once more.

“I don’t know what else to do, you see. I am desperate for help but I cannot afford the union let alone put in a request for a mercenary. Please, I am begging you, my son,” She places her hands together in prayer as she takes seat next to you, leaning in with wet eyes. “He has been trapped under the debris of the side of our home from the fires of three days ago. The ones that were meant to scare the Trogs away caught the thatch of our roof on fire and...Please. _Please_ , I, no one will help me.”

Her hand trembles as she touches your forearm. “S-sure miss, yeah, I can help,” You swallow as your head swims. “Do you by chance know what a HUD is?” You ask breathlessly.

Her eyes widen with hope as you say yes to her plea. They narrow in confusion as you ask your question. You feel the ground open up beneath you and your knees wobble.

“N-Never mind,” You close your eyes for a moment. “Before we go can you help me get something to drink? _Please_.”

 

 

* * *

 

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	3. Sobriquet

⚔️  𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓  ⚔️

_Child of Jörmungandr AU _

_ Chapter three  _

 Sobriquet **_  
_**

**_________**

 “I've journeyed to where I stand

A ghost among the far-off lands.”

_ Way of the strong  _

_ The Aviators  _

* * *

 

You stare into the rusted cup in your hands filled with pond water from the trough. Albeit barely, you can just make out the green of your eyes through the slits of your helmet against your dirty reflection. You give the mug a whiff and wow, yeah, that is utterly putrid. Yuck. You pull down your scarf to just below your lips as you bring the drink up, but not before picking out a slippery strand of moss.

The woman next to you winces in empathy. Well, bottoms up.

_Oh._

Oh that tastes how a swamp smells. Like ass. This water tastes like ass. You make a strangled sound as you push the cup back her way.

Do not want.

“Sorry, it’s not much but it’s what we’ve got in Aylesbury at the moment...” She mumbles as she dusts the pleats of her mauve peasants skirt.

You wipe your mouth with your scarf, pausing midway through handing back the cup. You stroke your face through the thick material of your shawl and your fingers tremble as you scratch against your facial scales. _Shit._

You don’t know what is going on, but you know one thing for sure. These are humans and your player avatar is _not._

_...Y-You are not._

Your eyes bolt to hers and she pinches her eyebrows together. Did she see them? You sweep your sights over the village like a leading arrow on a doppler radar. Paranoia tickles the base of your spine.

It was common for roving gangs of human and demi human players towards Yggdrasils end to gank solo heteromorphic players. Hell, it happened all throughout the games run time. It is why Momonga typically wore a ring of sleuth if he was solo and why you wore your armor.

 _Subterfuge_. It is how heteromorphs had to play the game. You were only ever safe in Nazarick outside of your armor. Not unless you wanted to drop levels and risk the chance of losing Kingslayer or another valuable piece of gear.

You wonder if it is the same way here, wherever _here_ is, exactly. Until you find out more you are going to stick to your guns, well, rather, armor and conveniently large scarf.

“Hey, uh, don’t worry about it,” you wave her off as she refastens the metal mug upon the belt on her hip. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Aalya, my name is Aalya,” She says as she tucks greasy strands of blonde hair behind her ear. “May I know yours wayfarer?”

“Hol--” You choke on a pregnant pause. Aalya asks if everything is okay and you nod your head. Think fast. “Uhhh, Artorian. Yep. My name is Artorian.” Fuck. That sounds so dumb. Of course you thought to spit out an old gamer tag, the one you _actually_ meant to use for Yggdrasil, over something believable like Sally or Jane. Regardless you choose to hide your name. You don't want someone to find out right now that you were a part of Ainz Ooal Gown. That would put a target on your head.

There is no way she is going to buy that name, however.

“It is nice to meet you Artorian. I-I can not thank you enough for accepting my cry for help,” Oh shit she bought it like it was on clearance. She takes one of your hands in hers and your stomach lurches at her continued display of detailed responses. There is _no way_ she is an NPC or a player simply rping, what is she? Are they all like this?

Are they all _real?_

“Please, come with me.”

You move with her through the small crowds of people like a leaf being carried by a strong wind. You mutter a few apologies as you stumble ahead on auto pilot, bumping into strangers, your sole focus on keeping up with Aalya as she hustles forward.

Your nostrils burn with the potent scent of smoldering ash as you arrive at Aalya’s dilapidated home. Support beams chewed black by fire smudge against your armor as she points where to walk. You follow cautiously in her footsteps. Dots of falling cinders drift like snowflakes from the ceiling. Piles of singed belongings, family heirlooms, and primitive furniture lay scattered throughout the once cozy house.

You wince as your greaves crunch through shards of glass from blown window panes. Damn, this is rough.

Just before you ask yourself if this can get worse, it does. Aalya makes her way to her knees as she reaches a hand through a pile of soot beneath one of the houses column supports. You kneel next to her and your heart drops as two tired eyes of a boy no older than ten blink back.

He looks exhausted.

“It’s okay Ekon,” Aalya breathes quietly, her palm stroking over the beads of cold sweat and ash canvassing her sons face. “Mommy brought help sweetheart, it’s going to be okay.”

Aalya quickly turns her head away as relief wells up in her eyes. She glances up to you as she mouths the word _please._ She did not have to ask again, your hands are already digging beneath the loose gravel of foundation to try and lift up the column.

You test the weight to see if you even can---

You suck in the rest of the air in the damn room through your nose as you try to muffle a gasp. You feel lighter than a feather, no, the _support beam_ feels lighter than a feather. Your forearms tremble and you would think you were hallucinating if not for the pain of hunger that is keeping you grounded. You have not eaten since yesterday and it is mid day today. Oh well, fuck it. This is more important.

You could easily pick this thing up and toss it aside but you err on the side of caution. Do not show her that you have suddenly become superman. So, you _carefully_ bring up the crumbling post. Behind you Aalya wheezes through a sob before darting forward to retrieve her son. You gently push the column forward and away as it lands with a crash against the remnants of a dinner table.

You wipe the soot from your hands onto the cloth spilling from beneath your thigh plating. Aalya pants over and over that she does not know how to thank let alone repay your kindness.

You do not know what to say. You are to busy being caught up in the fact that you just lifted a support beam like it was a damn twig. It all feels surreal, like you are floating, astrally projecting yourself from a dream into this new reality.

Or maybe you have yet to _actually_ wake up from that cliff side back on Midgard.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Aalya hums a tune that sounds like warm honey. With Ekon sleeping against one arm and a rag in the other she attends to his wounds and dirtied face. Aalya dips the washcloth into her shallow pale of water and blots away freckles of dried blood and layers of soot.

You ring out the fabric of your tasset with a sigh. You drape the material over your thigh plating in hopes that the sun will dry it out.

“Artorian?” Aalya whispers.

“Don’t worry about it, really. I’m glad I could help.” Aalya smiles sheepishly as she discards her hand towel in favor of holding her son close. She can not see it but you mirror her smile as she cradles Ekon as one would a china doll.

It is equally terrifying and beautiful to think that she is real.

You feel light headed as your appetite rakes at the lining of your belly. Food will have to wait. This is nothing new, you can not recall how many times you skipped lunch at work. Oh god, is the food here as bad as the water? _Nooo._ Ugh, you cross one leg over the other as you relax against the _not_ burnt side of Aalya’s home.

“How did this happen again?” You ask as you point towards the crispy fringe of the home.  

Aalya shifts Ekon from one arm to the other and he whimpers. Slender arms wrap around her neck as he nuzzles into her bosom. Yeah, okay, that is so sweet you think you have just been given diabetes. Maybe this is all just a really elaborate quest. A really damn elaborate quest.

Help the poor mother save her kid from a fire, gather information, and then use said information to unlock other side missions. Yeah. That’s it!

…Yeah. Just keeping telling yourself that. Explain it all away despite the overwhelming evidence that says this is more than that. So much more.

“The Trogs and Lizard men are growing bolder as upper water month approaches. Ever since the lord and lady of Cromerth lifted that law on hunting for sport the herds of buffalo and the like have been thinned to almost nothing. Because of the approaching cold and lack of food the Trogs and Lizard men, well, mostly the Trogs have been sneaking in late in the hours of the evening and kidnapping people for, well, you know.”

Your fingers graze thoughtfully over Kingslayers hilt. “The fire. You said that happened three days ago to frighten off the Trogs yeah?”

“Yes. A few of the townsfolk gathered together with torches to scare them away. It has worked before by just waving them around but like I said they’re getting braver. We….we had no choice. We threw down our lanterns and used the fuel on the ground to set fire to what we could to scare them off. It was either that or they’d take us! I just, I just didn’t think. By the time I got to Ekon half of our house was up in smoke and he was already trapped.”

“And you’re now telling me, that _none_ of those people who banded together to shoo away the Trogs would help you and your son?” Assholes.

Aalya’s shoulders slump. “I-If it’s for the betterment of the town we’ll stand together. However if it’s for one person that’s...that’s not going to happen. It hasn’t always been like that, but when the Mercenaries union was established a few years back we all just relied on them.”

“Pardon my french but that’s fucked up. I’m uh..really glad like I said that I could help you and Ekon,” Aalya beams with an appreciative smile as she runs fingers through her sons hair. “Hey, you mentioned the Mercenaries union earlier. Why did you think I was a part of them?”

“Either them or the Kingsguard. Last time I saw anyone with armor remotely like yours is when I was a child back in Edinburgh,” Aalya’s tone shifts as she leans forward with a motherly scowl. “You shouldn’t be doing stuff like this for people for free, not during times like this. I appreciate you more than you know Artorian, but with the way things are in Aylesbury once someone finds out you’re doing charity work the Mercenaries Union will have you turned in.”

“Oh, that sounds rather ominous? Haha, I’ll uh, be more careful next time I suppose,” You lean forward as well as you whisper. “What do you mean turned in, like jail time or something?”

“Yes,” Aalya parrots your tone in response. “They’re really strict about stuff like that. I’m shocked that I wasn’t caught but I can’t afford the Mercenaries Union. Ever since my husband passed away we’ve barely been scraping by. I would have went to them, I would have! I just don’t have the coin and half the time they don’t have a Mercenary available. They’re always out in Cromerth, taking care of other jobs, or well, sometimes they just ignore the copper class requests.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. Look, I’m not from around here, I’m sure you can uh...tell by now,” You scratch at your neck through your scarf as Aalya nods. “I’ll spare you the details. It’s...complicated. However I _need_ to know more. The Mercenaries Union, Aylesbury, all that stuff.”

“Oh! Yes, but of course! I’ll help you in any way I can. Are you from across the sea by chance? From Baharuth maybe?”

You sigh. “..A _lot_ farther than the sea.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

So the water tastes like ass because the Trogs and Lizard men have dug up and trashed Aylesbury’s irrigation network. Once a week a caravan from Cromerth delivers casks of water to compensate. However if they run out before the next supply comes? They are shit out of luck. They are left to collecting rain through troughs and buckets.

Aalya explains that a month back they went without a delivery for three weeks. That is why they have so much standing water. Either Cromerth conveniently forgot or the wagon was dismantled by the Lizard men.

And the Mercenaries union has not done anything about it. People get kidnapped and they squawk for money. It is Aalya’s fear that soon there will be no one to pay the union, because, well, there will be no one.

“You would make a great Mercenary, I think. We could really, _really_ use someone around here like you. Someone kind for a change.”

“You just met me Aalya,” You chuckle. “You don’t know me.”

“I beg to differ. I think first impressions are very telling of someone’s character.”

 

* * *

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀 Lizardmen & Trogs be like - Hide yo kids, Hide yo wife. 


	4. Mercenary

⚔️  𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓  ⚔️

_Child of Jörmungandr AU _

_ Chapter four  _

 Mercenary **_  
_**

**_________**

 “Second chances don't come cheap

So keep alert and on your feet..”

_ Traveler's song  _

_ The Aviators_

* * *

 

A bell chimes as you push the wooden door to the Mercenaries union forward. You step inside, leaving a trail of scuffed footprints in your wake. Your greaves click against the floor boards as you take in your surroundings, slowly making your way to the front desk.

It is a lot smaller than you had anticipated. This place looks more like a western saloon than a guild hall. Wall lanterns glow amber with their warm fire. Two flags, one on either side of the front desk, bore a symbol of a silver dagger on a black background.

A gathering area for guests sits to the left with four sets of wide oval tables and chairs. Bar stools lined with crushed velvet hug up to a waist high bar to the right. Glass shelves filled with wine bottles and moonshine sparkle as they lay in wait for consumption. A pale wench with enough cleavage to swallow the town works a rag around the inside of a shot glass from behind the bars counter.

An auburn haired mousy woman furiously scribbles a long feather against pale parchment. Once white ruffles, now tainted grey from years of wear, decorate her olive skin in a loose blouse. The sound of her pen scratching against paper fills your ears.

Ink droplets fall from the tip of her frilly feather across the surface of her desk. She grunts as she wipes the black substance away with her sleeve, smearing the ink across her work station.

You clear your throat.

“Yeah I see you. Give me a second, can’t you see that I’m busy?” She snaps through her nasally sounding voice, and you almost feel yourself laugh. You bite it back and cross your arms over your chest.

Maybe if you had negative karma and had attempted to kill the woman her text prompt would have warranted a rude response. However you got that out of your system when you first started playing Yggdrasil and have not killed an NPC in years.

That and you did not initiate anything other than the clearing of your throat. No command prompt, no HUD, nothing. You place your hand over your forehead and sigh. Your stomach growls. Perfect timing, the odd hum in your head from earlier is acting up again. The sensation is nestled above your right eye like a maggot trying to burrow through your flesh. God, you hate this feeling. You smack your helmet to make it go away.

“Okay, _fine_ ,” The desk attendant huffs. “If you’re going to act all dramatic then what do you want?”

Looks like someone is on the rag. Well, at least the weird tickle is gone. You lean forward as you place your hands on the desk. “Look. I would like to learn more about the Mercenaries Union. I am from uh, from out of town.”

Without glancing up she reaches over as if she has done this action many times before. Her fingers pinch on a small pamphlet that she then carelessly waves over to you. “Here. This will tell you what you need to know.” She says, tone undulating between bored and fed up.

You resist the urge to snatch it from her hand. No, be nice. Kill her with kindness. “Thank you.” You gently take the tan leaflet from her and flip it open. You chew on your cheek as you scan the small lettering.

It...it barely makes sense. Something about ranks varying in metals, how the guilds were founded two hundred years ago, and a bunch of other information that only raises more questions. You straighten your posture as you set the pamphlet face down before her, hand resting on top. “I would like you to explain this to me, please.”

She wrinkles her nose as her blue eyes pierce you with their cold stare. After a pause she sighs and shakes her head. “What do you want to know, exactly?”

“Well, for starters how does one join the Mercenaries Union?”

She blinks, her once harsh expression softening. “Are you looking to join the union?”

You tap your finger against the pamphlet in thought. On the walk over it had crossed your mind. A lot crossed your mind. You mostly wanted to come here to see if there might somehow be a cash shop stall but…

You swallow the hard lump in your throat. “Yes. Yes I am.”

You know this is your best chance at figuring out what is going on. Your dive is upped to its maximum threshold and hunger is rocking your core and it is all making you feel light headed.

That is, if you are even still diving.

She brightens with a church smile as she grabs a different piece of paper. “You should have said so!” She holds the paperwork up and uses her feathered pen to ghost the tip over the document. “By the way my name is Emma. I’ll be more than happy to walk you through how to become a Mercenary.”

“...Thank you.” Okay that was a sudden change of attitude if there ever was one.

“Of course! Here, the first thing that you need to know is we are _very_ different from other unions and guilds. We pride ourselves in the skills of our Gold class Mercenaries. It is why Aylesbury does not possess a martial force. That is what the Mercenaries are for,” Emma leans forward and winks. “Keeps Cromerth from collecting taxes on us that way.”

“I heard that if the citizens of Aylesbury do not go through the Mercenaries Union for aid they are taken in.”

“Yes, that is true. We can not have the people of Aylesbury taking jobs from the Union. The money we get, little at that, is used to fund our projects and pay our Mercenaries,” Emma smiles darkly, blue eyes flickering. “By the way, who told you about that since you’re from out of town? It would help the Union to know who is and who isn’t happy with our methods.”

Shit. Your stomach drops as you take a quick glance back at the entryway. You can not sell Aalya out. What was that town Aalya said she was from?

You inhale sharply. “I heard about the rumor when passing through Edinburgh.”

“...Is that so.” Emma deadpans, her smile falling flat.

“Is there a fee to join the Union?” You change the subject.

“No. No there is not. Anyone is allowed to join us, we believe in offering fair opportunity to everyone. However in order to remain a Mercenary you must complete local quests from our job board at least three times a week. If not you will be dropped, no questions asked, and you will  be blacklisted. That is until you reach Gold rank.” Emma slips the pamphlet from under your hand into hers as she points at the picture of dog tag like plates that resemble a mercenaries status.

“This is where we are alike to other guilds and unions. We all follow this scale. You climb the ranks by completing quests. Your pay goes up by rank. Go it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now, you’re wondering, I’m sure, how are you paid? That’s simple, really. Townsfolk or if you’re lucky someone from Cromerth comes in and puts in a job. They pay upfront and wait for a Mercenary to take their request. Once you complete their task you get a portion of what they paid upfront. The rest? That goes to the union,” Emma opens her desk drawer and retrieves a petite copper plate. “Copper class mercenaries receive a ten percent cut for their earnings. Now I know, that doesn’t sound like a lot. You gotta start out small before you can grow on up. Gotta crawl before you run as they say.”

Emma lays out several contracts of sorts, all with an elaborate wax seal, a sloppy circle with the shape of a dagger. She sets the sliver of copper on the documents along with a slender chain. “You will need to wear that so everyone knows that you’re a Mercenary and what rank you stand with us,” Emma says, tapping her quill against the copper plate before handing you her pen. “All I need for you to do is sign all of this and pick up a quest.”

You flip through the pages, eyes scanning over the lines of old english like text. It makes the taste in your mouth sour. It is so custom and detailed. Yggdrasil was a masterpiece when it came to level design and customization but this, this is _different._

This is real.

“So, what do you go by?” She asks as you stare at the signature line.

With a cursive capital A that bleeds into the rest of your moniker neatly you sign the contracts. “Artorian.”

Emma smirks as she rests her elbows on her desk. “So, Artorian. Where are you from? You gotta be from far away with armor like that.”

“Yeah,” You sigh forlornly. “Far away. _Damn_ far away.”

 

* * *

 

 

It is most likely due to hunger that the first quest you pick from the job board has to do with food. According to Emma an elderly gentlemen, once a week, with hopes higher than the moon puts in the same quest.

You give three polite knocks on the rounded white door of the home before you. You stand on a small yet quaint porch with two rocking chairs. Bird feeders, some with seed and others with sugary syrup, hang from the ceiling. Birds chirp and hover in wait around the home for you to leave so that they may resume their posts upon the feeders.

You adjust your scarf as the repetitious sound of tapping fills your ears. Tat tap, pause. Tap tap, pause. The door slowly flows forward as a man in overalls and a cotton white shirt reveals himself. Wrinkles canvas his tanned face, most prominently around his eyes. Aged leathery skin hangs from his cheeks, neck, and arms. Thick rimmed shaded glasses, neatly kept, sit atop his plump nose.  He smiles warmly as he leans on his cane.

“Deary, are you perhaps from the union?” He asks slowly, his raspy voice whistling through missing teeth.

“Yes, yes I am,” You mirror his smile as you reach your contract forward. “I’m here to help with your garden, is that right?”

“Oh what wonderful news! Yes yes, right this way, come in, come in!” A hand with pronounced knuckles, dotted with the purples and greens of generations, collects the paper from you.

Two bedrooms, a kitchen, a small area for recreation, and an outhouse that you can see through a bay window make up his humble abode. It is nice, rather cozy, and smells like spiced vanilla. Black and white photos with happy faces dot his slender hallway. Candles on wall mounted sconces flicker lazily, casting shadows across the floor boards.

“Arthur, Arthur Yaxley the third,” He states proudly, cane tapping right and left as he hobbles forward. “I’m so grateful that you arrived when you did! Ah, I have been hoping for a few months now that a Mercenary might be kind enough to lend me a hand.”  

“A few...months?” You mumble. “I’m uh, really sorry that it has taken us this long to get someone to you.” Well, there is your customer service representative shining through. Really though, it sucks that it has taken months for someone to get to this old man’s request. You wonder how many others have been waiting this long for a Mercenary.

Or possibly longer.

You know that in Yggdrasil after you reached a certain level you never bothered with lower level quests. Low level quests meant low level gear and low level gear was useless.

You pick at the leather of your gauntlets as you walk through Arthur’s home and to his vegetable garden. If this isn’t Yggdrasil what is this? Some things feel mirrored but…

Arthur Yaxley the third replaces your thoughts with a basket woven with birch wood and pale blue ribbons. You carefully hook it in the crook of your arm.

“I understand that you all are busy doin’ your big jobs in the city, I am just thankful that you found time to make room for little old me.” Arthur sighs contently as he nudges his cane against the exterior fence of his garden. “Now then, if you give a quick looksie’ in that basket you’ll see some snipping shears. If you would be as kind as to prune up the weeds while you pick the radishes?”

“Yeah, no problem. It’s the least I can do since you’ve been waiting so long.” You step over the ankle high white fence, between two rows of vegetation. Arthur thanks you more times than you would like, but you get it. He is old and most of the elderly have that appreciative attitude.

 _Even here, in this place that is and is not Yggdrasil._ You wonder if it is somehow possible that he has been programmed this way..

Or if it is more likely that he is the way he is because he is actually _real_.

And so you get to work. As Arthur enters his home you yank your scarf down. Armored fingers dig through soft soil as you retrieve a bright orange carrot with a long stalk of leafy foliage. You use the fringe on your chain skirt to wipe away the dirt and greedily take a few crunching bites. Your eyes water. _It’s delicious_.

Have carrots always been sweet? Back home, wherever that is now, produce wasn’t necessarily rare. It was just absurdly expensive. Nevertheless you typically hate carrots but! You are starving and good god damn, this is _tasty._ You hork the carrot down entirely too fast, not chewing enough, but hey, at least you have something other than air and acid in your stomach now.

You lick your lips as you make your way through Arthur’s garden. You stifle the urge to do the ‘ _one for me one for you’_ act. It does not stop you from sampling, however. Hey, he won’t notice. Right?

You sink your teeth into a vibrantly red radish with white streaks. Your nostrils burn the longer you chew from the vegetables natural spices and kick. Your mouth waters as you swallow. You belt out a loud sigh in accomplishment. You are still hungry, but, this will do for now. It will have to do for now. You already read in your pamphlet that stealing from the unions clients will land you in hot water.

You do not want to think what medieval prison is like.

The shears barely fit through your armored fingers and make an ugly grating sound when you use them. You trim what you can, tossing yellow foxtails, dandelions, and clumpy crabgrass up and over the fence. All the while you scoop out carrots, radishes, leafy cabbages, and white onions to fill your basket.

The rest of the weeds you pull by hand. Heh, the last time you remember doing anything like this you were barely old enough to talk. The memory of your own grandparents garden seems farther in your mind than wherever home is now, but you can still faintly remember how the dirt felt between your fingernails.

By the time you have finished your task the sun is setting. The sun is...setting. A tingle slides down your spine in realization that….it has been so much longer than an hour. It has been hours, several hours.

You are not going to be automatically booted from Yggdrasil’s servers. Your knees wobble as you walk up the steps on Arthurs back porch, the sun reflecting in shades of gold off of his home.

This is not Yggdrasil.

You give three polite, shaking knocks on the door.

You do not know where you are.

Arthur answers the door with a smile that reminds you of a---

Your heart skips a beat and then the only sound that fills your ears is its loud _thump, thump,_ **_thump._ **You look at yourself through Arthur’s glasses, arms trembling.

From your nose guard down you see the horror painted on your dropped jaw. Your blue facial scales glitter in the echo of the sun in Arthur’s bifocals.

You forgot to pull up your scarf.

 

* * *

 

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	5. Perception

⚔️  𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓  ⚔️

_Child of Jörmungandr AU _

_ Chapter five  _

 Perception **_  
_**

**_________**

 “You know that there's a dark place

That will make you something more.”

_ The far side  _

_ The Aviators  _

* * *

 

You take your seat in Arthur's kitchen, pulling back your chair as it squeaks across the wooden floor. Arthur hums a throaty tune as he feels around the table before setting the basket interwoven with blue ribbons down. The colorful vegetables shift around and settle as he places them sloppily on a lazy Susan before adjusting it.

There has been nothing but casual talk, mostly Arthur happily chatting you up and admitting that he is rather lonely. You? You have been mostly quiet.

You are waiting for the blackmail.

Yggdrasil, at its core, was a game of discovery. The unearthing of information on builds, where you might have a chance of farming for that one rare drop, world items, raids, the works. Back in the day your guild were masters of not only deception but keeping their secrets on lock down.

And now you have to channel that mindset. So you dumbly say a simple _yes_ or _no_ occasionally, sometimes adding in a _Hmm_ or an _Ah._ You do not want to dig yourself into a deeper grave.

You are scared, and really, you do not know if you can dig any deeper. All that runs through your mind is how Momonga told you he was relentlessly PK’d for being heteromorphic in his early days, as well as your own experiences before joining Ainz Ooal Gown.

Arthur taps his cane from side to side as he tests the area around him. He winces as he takes his seat, face contorting as he rubs the small of his back. “These old bones I tell ya.” He chuckles. “Do be a doll and tell me, has the sun set yet?”

You look up in thought, your armor clanking as you sit back in your seat uncomfortably. “Yes, yes it has.” You answer.

“Ah, good to know then. Thank you, um, Artory was it?” Arthur takes off his glasses, pressing them closed against his chest and hooking the frame against his shirt.

“Uh, uh, A-Artorian,” You rasp as you look into his cloudy eyes. You lean forward as you fold one leg over the other. “You’re… You’re blind.” You state abruptly, fingers flexing in disbelief.

Wow, good job. That was rude. Your mind flashes to where you first met Arthur just a few hours earlier. How did you not notice how he was guiding himself with his cane?

“Only in the ways that do not matter.” Arthur say sweetly, his glossy eyes shimmering as ivory marbles with striations of cracked blue.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“Now now, no need for an apology Artorian,” Arthur dismisses you with a wave of his hand. “Twas just a simple observation, I take no offense. Besides I understand that it is indeed rare to see someone like myself at this age getting along despite my obstacles.”

“I honestly didn’t notice until you took off your glasses. You do really well for yourself.” Ye gods, you are so fucking thankful right now. You quick make a cross over your chest and point two crossed fingers up at the sky, grateful to whatever god is up above that Arthur is blind.

You dodged a bullet. You have to be more careful.

You are unsure of how many chances you are going to get.

“So you were out there for quite a few hours, would you care for a bite to eat? I do happen to be the best, self proclaimed mind you, baker in Aylesbury.”

“I…,” You hesitate. “ _Yes._ Yes please. I would really like something to eat, I’m freakin’ starving.” You rub the back of your neck, fingers scraping against your helmet in a shrill scratch. “How do you um...know how to bake? I mean, ya know, being blind and all.” You wrinkle your nose, you hope that didn’t sound impolite.

“Oh dear,” Arthur laughs, stopping only to cough. “I was a bread maker for many years! Hahaha one may lose their sights but you _never_ forget the feeling.”

“Hey I get that. I once burned my right hand and couldn’t draw for like, six or seven months I think? Even after that time I was able to get right back into the swing of things.”

“Oh so you are a Mercenary and an artist? I knew there was something special about you. Now, how long have you been a Mercenary? I haven’t heard your name before and I generally have a pretty darn good memory.” Arthur asks as he hovers his hand over his kitchen counter. He then scoots his way to a polished silver bowl covered with a towel.

“Funny you should ask, I just started today. You’re uh, actually the first job I picked up.”

Arthur stops mid way through lifting up a lumpy pile of risen dough. He smiles to himself as he sprinkles flour onto his counter just before slapping down the pale clump. “Thank you for taking the time to pick up this old geasers request. That garden back there means so very much to me.”

“You’re...You’re welcome, really. I’m glad I chose it too,” You look around the country style kitchen a few times before shrugging and pulling your scarf down. You take in a breath of the crisp air filtering in through the open window. It is dark and no one visits Arthur, so you figure you are safe. He is blind after all. “So, what’s the story behind the garden?”

Arthur grunts as he kneads the dough, separating it into portions. “Well, it all started roughly forty or so years ago when my wife and I got together. Ah, she truly was quite the sight. Raven black hair and eyes so blue you’d think you were staring straight into the bottom of the sea. So, her and I after getting hitched made a garden together. A marriage is like a garden, you know. You take good care of it and….” Arthur pauses. “It grows into something beautiful. You maintain it and it stays beautiful. Ismeria and I had a beautiful marriage, a beautiful garden. It is my promise to her to keep our garden beautiful.”

You sink back into your seat. Your words flutter in your throat.“....I’m glad I could help you keep your garden beautiful Arthur. Let me know whenever you need help.”

“Do you mean that?” Arthur asks quietly as he places the dough on a rusted baking sheet. He pads over to the hood below his chimney, shuffling it inside his masonry oven as he gets a feel for the heat.

“Yeah, yeah. I mean it.”

“I knew there was something different about you. You’re definitely not from around from these parts. May think me just an aged sap but you remind me of my Ismeria. She was big on being kind to people, one of the last in this town to be like that…”

_'You would make a great Mercenary, I think. We could really, really use someone around here like you. Someone kind for a change.’_

Aayla’s words beat around in your skull. You tense up. You want to tell Arthur you are not like some discount Robin hood. You are not here on this self righteous crusade to save the weak, help the poor, and dismantle the authority. You just…

You are just going through the motions. You keep waiting to get pulled out of this reality and back into a shittier one. A place where you saved up for eight long years to afford the gaming system to play Yggdrasil. A place where you would do anything to be in…

...A place like this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur has every right to claim the title as best baker in Aylesbury. You pull apart your flaky loaf of bread and steam bursts free. You slather the insides with fresh whipped butter that Arthur makes in the mornings and infuses with local honey.

You inhale your treat as one would a cup of expensive coffee. You lick the now melted butter that is dripping onto your gauntlets and your hair stands on edge. You are a total sucker for sweets.

“This is so good!” You squeal through a mouthful of soft bread, doing your best to chew slowly instead of flying through this as you typically do with food.

“Well I’ll tell you _what_ then,” Arthur smiles as if he is Santa Claus himself. “I know that they don’t pay you copper class mercenaries much. Let’s just say it’s my thanks to you for helping me with my garden. You pick up on helpin’ me like you did and it would be my pleasure to bake for you every now and then.”

Oh fuck _yes_ free food.

“Ohh that would be so rad,” You swallow and hastily fill your mouth with the rest of your bread. You really enjoy the texture of this stuff, it is light and airy like a cloud but somehow still heavy like a biscuit. You work the wad of dough and butter into your cheek like a chipmunk so that you can be heard. “Can I have a carrot?”

You are a glutton and you have little shame when you are hungry.

“As many as you like! You should have a few radishes, they are my favorite. They don’t always sit right with my stomach but I haven’t died yet.” Arthur chuckles as he feels around the basket, palming a few radishes when he finds them.

Dear lord he really is Santa Claus.

“Are you from Aylesbury?” You ask as you retrieve the largest carrot in the bunch, playfully fluffing up the bushy green stalk. Kinda reminds you of the hill grass back on Midgard…

“Born and raised deary. I was here before the union and back before we even had a sign. I even remember back when Aylesbury was just a settlement of sorts before the big wigs of Cromerth came and gobbled us up like you are doin’ to that there carrot.”

You stop your loud crunching to giggle. The bits of carrot jumble in your mouth like dice. “Sorry it’s _really_ good.”

Arthur chortles, hitting himself in the chest a few times as he coughs through his laugh. “It is so good to have company Artorian. Well, come now, give it up then. Where are you from? I can hear you don’t have the Aylesbury accent and from the sounds of it your armor ain’t what the Kingsguard wear in Cromerth.”

You swallow hard, the pieces of carrot rough as they scrape down your throat like glass. You need to come up with a story, this looks like it is going to be a recurring question.

You bite your lip in thought. “....I’m kinda like a nomad. I just go from place to place.”

“Artorian,” Arthur scolds your name and your eyebrows pinch together. “I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but you ain’t gotta lie to me now.”

“I’m uh, not lying.” You lie. What are you supposed to say?! _Oh hey, I have no idea what’s going on, I think I might be dreaming, and I think I am stuck in a video game?_

“Oh _really_ now. You know, they say that when you lose one sense you gain another? Well I don’t know if that’s rightfully true but I can feel things. That’s how I know you’re lying and I don’t rightly appreciate it.”

You run your tongue over teeth as you look away. “..What if I told you that I _can’t_ tell you?”

Arthur sighs. “Well that would be right and dandy I suppose.”

“I’ll say this. I...I’m from somewhere _else._ Just think of me as a...well, like I said, Nomad. I really did just go from place to place ya know.”

“Hmmm. Well lass, you be right on that one. As I said before I could tell that you were different.” Arthur rolls a radish around in his palm, looking lost in thought for a moment before rolling it across the table your way. “Maybe a little bit more different than I had thought.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

You have found yourself in a bit of a dilemma.

You slough forward, a cool breeze picking up the fabric on your plume and blowing it about like a long, cascading ribbon. Moonlight dances in the trough beside you as you take your seat in the bench you found yourself in when you first walked into Aylesbury. You squirm in your armor as you try to get comfortable.

You never thought you would find yourself so far away from home. You never thought you would find yourself...homeless. Yikes.

You look up at the night sky before closing your eyes. An endless ocean of stars wink across the twilight. It was just the other night you were reaching up to touch them...

_Where am I?_

Your body feels heavy, like you are made of iron, as you crumble like discarded laundry in your seat. Your arms and legs feel numb as you yawn. You hook a thumb in your scarf as you lean your head back and pull the cloth up and over your eyes.

You wonder what would be worse. Waking up in your bed knowing Yggdrasil was dead and gone, that you had work in a few hours, or…

Waking up here.

Waking up in a place you always wanted to be. That it is equally terrifying and thrilling to you.

Your eyelids flutter as you pick up on the sound of footsteps. Gentle, like summer rain. The soft swishing of fabric grows in volume.

“...Artorian? W-What are you doing?” Smooth as a whisper like that of a field of flowers you sigh as you hear Aayla’s voice.

“Trying to sleep.” Ugh, no offense to Aayla she is as sweet as pie but you just want to try to get some sleep. Not think about anything, and, why is she out this late? Great, now you’re thinking..

Aayla’s hand fits over yours and she gives a firm tug. She musters her best motherly disapproving tone as she leans forward and whispers, “Not here you’re not.”

 

* * *

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I pulled a sneaky on ya. 👀🤣 
> 
> Holly - I may have just met Arthur a few hours ago, but if anything happens to him I will kill everyone in Aylesbury and then myself. 
> 
> Aayla is best pseudo mom friend. 
> 
> Marriage _is_ like a garden. 🌷🌼🌻💐🌱🌹🌺


	6. Hollow

 

⚔️  𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓  ⚔️

_Child of Jörmungandr AU _

_ Chapter six  _

 Hollow ** _  
_**

**_________**

“So, I'll lend you my essence

For your rusted throne

And you could bring back the light

To the last home.”

_ A castle on the sea  _

_ The Aviators  _

* * *

 

It is a peculiar thing to be caught in the balance of life and awakening. That before this new world he felt stifled, static, as if every movement he made or breath he took was not his own.

Now he is his own person. One of many.

It is within this gifted life that he believes, _knows and cherishes_ , that he unequivocally owes this second birth to the last two remaining supreme beings. They who stayed.

One, his exalted creator. Lord Momonga. His liege, his master, the phantasmal man of power rivaling, no, ascending past and through the cosmos!

The other…

Hooked talons, lethally sharp, tap against ivory marble flooring. Bands of copper and jade mixed in a cracked river run beneath his solemn form. Flecks of amber cavort against the ebony walls as his plates of armor move with his borrowed body. Ever flowing tabards sway from his hips like a gentle palm tree, fabric tickling against his many pearlescent feathers.  

He clicks his golden beak to get used to the way his new muscles react. The sound echoes down the halls, bouncing between his ears.

Just being within this supreme beings form shakes his core with pride. He fulfills his purpose when he assumes the role of one of the almighty 42. His Lord’s holy words coat him in a temporary glow as he remembers why he was brought to life so graciously.

To give life to those his Lord loved. To be them in their stead; To assume the mantle of each supreme being should his King wish him to.

What he first remembers are his monarchs crimson eyes. Two blood gems blazing before him in a demonstration of both power and unfathomable knowledge. Then, his master's voice. Still to this day the low boom of his gods wise tone quells his soul in both fear and admiration.

The rest was pain.

It is to his understanding that Lord Momonga bestowed him this life when the other supreme beings began to leave the great underground tomb. Every guardian tasted it like a nightmare when a supreme being renounced Nazarick.

That was his first taste of agony.

That somewhere in the sea of sentience and confusion, before the true life he has now, he felt pieces of his soul unweave as their deities walked away.

Every single time, without fail, it felt like a new hole opening in his chest. That places within him that he did not understand ached with pain before he understood what pain was.

He took it as a testament to his resolve. If his Lord should raise him to life in such a time of need then he would gladly, without hesitation, embrace an eternity of suffering.

And for a time, he did.

In the same respect that when the guardians felt the supreme ones depart, they also could sense when one blessed them with their divine presence. He was unaware of such an opulence, only taking solace in what he could recall of his creator. He only ever registered how he felt unmade each time one of Nazarick’s Messiah’s faded.

Until her.

He had never experienced, never dreamed of what sacred hope was until she enriched the great tomb with her existence.

The 42nd.

Holly Leonhardt.

She filled his soul with a new feeling. He was unsure of what it was at the particular moment. He was to busy soaking in the rapture of the emotion and how it filled every empty space within him. All he knew in the aftermath of her arrival is that it made him feel warm. Safe.

The polar opposite to the atrophy of the many long gone gods before her.

She was the last supreme one to adorn Nazarick. She sits as a crown jewel atop the great tomb, beside his Lord, and will forevermore be a place of comfort to him.

The four mighty wings upon his back flutter. The pearl white plumage of feathers on his chest ruffle. Ah, truly his Lord is benevolent. It was not but shortly after he sensed her that he was fortunate enough to be imparted with her physical presence.

It is incredible to him, fascinating, and unimaginable and why he will never question the power of a supreme one so long as he is allowed to live by and under their rule. His heart beats faster when he thinks of her walking up to him and placing a Gem of Helheim before his eyes.

Her benevolence is incomprehensible, as if he is trying to understand a pointed circle.

 _"Keep this for me, okay?’_ Soft and smooth like silken lace she smiles through her voice, his memory drenched in the fragrance of her soul.

And keep it he shall, ohhh keep it he shall. The petite amethyst glitters like a symphony of angels in his breast pocket. He recalls feeling weightless when his hand touched hers as she presented him with such a thoughtful trinket.  

The times were far and few between, but even after her first visit to the treasury, she would still come to see him. Just him! The thought in and of itself is treason. Blasphemy! To so arrogantly think that a supreme being would ever only visit just a guardian, and a lowly area guardian at that.

...And yet she only ever came to the chief managerial office. His main quarters. She did nothing more than ask him to perform what she called ‘emotes’. Could it truly be that she was only there for him?

So he put everything into what he believed she was requesting of him. He would not fail her! He performed every dynamic move, gesture, and striking pose that he knew through his Lord. His blood sings in the remembrance of her laughter, the clapping of her hands, and when she tells him that she thinks he is _cool._

The dull pang of an uncomfortable loneliness strikes him, yanking him from the nostalgia like an ice bath. An emptiness fills his heart to the brim, and soon, he is standing still and swallowed in the hollow pain encompassing him in a cold cocoon.

Every breath he takes is shallow. Five armor plated fingers, dusted in gold leaf, work in the air as he draws individual symbols with each of his talons. Puffs of red smoke flow from his claw tips. He turns his hand in a counterclockwise motion, only pinching his fingers together as the arcane fumes materialize into a floating ethereal tablet.

As if he were touching a butterfly for the first time he lifts a lone talon and accesses Nazarick’s guild roster. A bitten back sigh rumbles in his throat as his spectral white eyes hover over the name second from the top.

There she is, bright as day, curling through and around his hand as he brushes a knuckle against the cursive H of her perfect title. _Does she know the duality of her name?_

That question is birthed from light. The next creeps over his shoulders like a dark shadow.

Why. The impossible question plummets as a slab of stone into the quiet pond of his soul. He can see her, yet he can not _feel_ her. Her lovely aura is lost from him and never before has he felt so confused, so hollow.

_Wohin bist du gegangen, meine Königin?_

She would not leave Nazarick, would she? Proof levitates before his eyes in a crimson tablet that reminds him of her voluptuous hair. Nein, nein she would not. Then why, why?!

Why does he feel this way, feel that she is lost from him? _Lost from Nazarick._ Why can he not feel her as he does the presence of his illustrious Lord Momonga?

His form falters as he allows himself an indulgence in selfish reassurance. He relaxes, shoulders dropping as his bones rearrange to fit into a smaller and equally divine frame. The raven strands flowing from the apex of his scalp multiply in bunches, spilling down to his waist in thick curls of red and blue. Gold melts to silver and hugs his new curves in layers of knightly armor. An oak tree etched in mythril decorates his breastplate, sparkling sapphires replacing where one would assume to see a filigree of leaves.

Ashen horns peek out from the crown of his skull, popping up like daisies through his generous portion of hair. Cerulean scales dot his cheeks, neckline, and glisten like wet pearls as they are brought forth. He blinks as he adjusts his new eyes, two identical evergreen globes that still send a shiver over his body when he thinks of seeing them for the first time. His spine tickles as a stout tail grows from bone to flesh in one long sweeping transformation.

His new appendage twitches with life and he sighs through a pair of full lips. With his self surgery now complete he looks down at his hands and flexes his fingers. The armor bends in segments, revealing indigo fabric between the folds.  

Pandora’s Actor looks at himself, at Lady Holly, through his, nein, hers, _their_ reflective steel gauntlets. Two questions, matching in his eyes, stare back at him through her primary colors. He takes a deep breath as he breathes as her, and he can answer one.

Nein. She would not leave! He curses himself at the thought of how he could question her! Just standing in the mock of her glorious form he is able to understand a part of her heart! Ah, truly he believes that it is within the foresight of his treasured Lord to create him as a doppelganger that he owes this bauble of knowledge to. That he assumes he knows her better than anyone else and rests assured she would never abandon Nazarick.

The other question still stands as a sword in his heart. If she would not leave…

Where is she?

He places his hand in hers, interlacing his fingers together. Perhaps his master would know, he is an impressively intellectual Lord after all. It is with high hopes that Lord Momonga might come down to the Treasury some time soon and grant him council.

If it is as he suspects? Then this new level of sentience of his amidst the great tomb missing one of its two supreme beings is not the only thing curious to be occurring. Surely his Lord could have a use for him outside of the Treasury, and if he had it his way, his utility would be best outfitted in locating Lady Holly.

Only time will tell. For now, he must remain ever vigilant and complete his duties to Nazarick as the treasuries area guardian. He can falter no more! It is with every piece of gold he counts, every data crystal he sorts, that he feverishly yearns to feel her aura warm his soul as it had only days before...

 

* * *

 

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	7. Widow

 

 

⚔️  𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓  ⚔️

_Child of Jörmungandr AU _

_ Chapter seven  _

 Widow **_  
_**

**_________**

 “Days in neverland grow darker.”

_ Lost boys  _

_ The Aviators_

* * *

 

Aayla’s son Ekon’s laughter is what you would expect to hear from a kid with a fist full of candy. He reminds you of a childhood friend you once had. Energetic with bushy brown hair, doe-eyes, and a slender figure. As you lean a shoulder against Aayla’s house and watch him swing his wooden sword about you wonder if his clothes were custom made. They hang off of his frame as if they were crafted for him to grow into rather than out of.

Baggy pants that are held up by a rope belt dress his legs. If you are a good judge of anything you would say they were made of potato sacks. He has them folded up to his ankles, and from the looks of it his shoes are made of the same material. His shirt is a tad nicer. More of a poet’s blouse than anything, and tarnished with soot along the cuffs of his sleeves. Maybe it belonged to a relative?

Ekon wacks a tree before dashing to the left and striking his wooden sword through a bush. The battle cry he shrieks as he thrusts his weapon in the air sounds more like a yelp. Heh, cute. However with time and some more hair on his chest you think he will grow into a fine young man.

Your chuckle rattles behind your helmet, lending it a metallic bounce as you glance down to Aayla. Bubbles rise from her metal washboard and soapy pale of water as she scrubs away at dirty laundry. “How old is he?”

“Ten and a half,” Aayla responds. Just before ringing out a pair of socks she sighs. “...You know he looks just like his father.”

... _Shit._

 You have never known how to conduct yourself in situations like this. She did mention that she had lost her husband, but is it necessarily appropriate for you to shoot in the dark and ask her how? Is that what she is even wanting, or was this just an off handed remark? Something tells you that it might have just been a slip of the tongue. A casual response spoken to fill the silence. Yet another voice tickles the back of your brain and whispers that maybe, just maybe she needs someone to talk with.

You can use all the friends you can get.

“Yeah? He’s a cutie that’s for sure,” You squat to her level as she deflates while nodding her head. Your stomach churns like a bog as you gesture her way, caught between reaching for her hand and curling your fingers in hesitation. “What happened?”

It is in the way that Aayla runs her palm over her face, soggy and pruned, that has your gut continue to tie itself in a series of knots. You wave your hand before you defensively as you try to back yourself out of being overly presumptuous. 

“I mean, no, hey don’t worry about it. If you don’t wanna talk about it I can get behind that. My bad, I-I don’t want to pressu--”

“..You haven’t heard of the accident, have you?”

“No,” You whisper as you pat the ground before taking your seat. “No I haven’t, but if you wanna educate me on it I’m all ears.”

“You know if they had just let everyone stay home that day…,” Aayla pauses as she stares ahead. “It was awful. A year or so back we had this terrible rainy season. Turned the roads to slush and caravans were nearly out of the question. And you know what? They still wanted my husband to work. But I’m getting ahead of myself. You see my Harley was a coal miner. That was his name. Harley. You know his mother named him that because she always figured he’d grow up to be a one syllable kind of guy? Hah, she couldn’t have been more wrong. My Harley was smart, my Harley was…”

You suck in a deep breath, exhaling through your nose to hide your reaction. You can already make a good guess of what is to come next. Damn. Damn it all this place is just like home. Nothing but a select few fat men in a city of starving people. 

Aayla balls up her fists, clenching around a dripping shirt. “I-I tried to tell him no. But he had that look. That look that told me everything was fine, that fooled me into believing that he could do anything as he always said he could. And you know he could? That man, I swear, he could do anything. Anything! Never had I seen someone be able to keep their promises like my Harley. All...but one.”

Aayla bites her lip before turning to you with an oceans worth of grief caught in her eyes. “You know he promised to come home?”

A hollow claw rakes at your soul as you face the ground. What can you say? You have not lost a loved one like this. Sure, Momma was a rolling stone and you grew up without a father but that was not death. That was just an absence. Nevertheless it opened a hole in you that can never be filled, however you turned out okay. Ekon will be okay. 

You want to help Aayla be okay, too.

“He would have if he could have,” You sit up straighter, and yeah, your tone is a little braver than you would like but in this situation you think that is what she needs right now. “Tell me what happened.”

“They never gave any of us widows the details. Just that there was a crash of sorts and the tunnels were sealed off. I think that’s what bugs me the most? Is that I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if he died horribly, peacefully, or..,” Aayla’s lip quivers. “Sometimes when I hear whistling I think it’s him. I just keep hoping that he’s...that he’s going to come home.”

“There’s nothing wrong with hope.”

“Do you really think so? Do you think he could still be alive? You know they never found all the bodies. And what they did find they, well, they never disclosed much like I said.”

You give a false moment of ponder before responding. “Y-Yeah, yeah I do. If they never said much there’s definitely a chance.”

 _Liar_ should be tattooed to each of your wrists.

Aayla’s laugh is caught somewhere between disbelief and a choked sigh. “Everyone else thinks I’ve gone crazy for thinking he might march back into Aylesbury one day,” Aayla’s eyes haunt you as she takes a long draw over your helmet. Her lips hint at a smile before she turns her direction to Ekon to linger on him where she dawns like a sun. “We don’t talk about it much but he misses him too, you know. It’s why it’s so nice to have you around.”

Discount robin hood? Check.

Supplementary father figure? Here we go.

“...Thank you,” Aayla whispers, before snatching up the cloth of your tasset and shaking it at you. “This is filthy! When are you going to let me wash this!?”

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
It is not that you need to pay Aayla for letting you bum around at her house. Not like you have anywhere else to go, even though Arthur would love to have you around more. You have just figured that this is kind of your life now, and rather than laying down and accepting defeat you are going to make the most of what you have.

Which is not much. It is similar to scraping together pocket change from couch cushions for gas money, but at least there’s that, ya know? Heh, it could be worse. You don’t know how but it could be worse.

If only you knew that it could be better, too.

The mahogany doors to the mercenaries guild swing open on a wide turn as you march inside. Sunlight carves your path forward and bleaches the job board a blinding white. You yank the most recent listing off of a thumbtack, tearing the page, just before slapping it against the reception desk and proclaiming that this? _This_ is the mission you want for the day.

Day before yesterday, which was Thursday, at least you think it was? You have been losing track of the days. Anyways, a delivery from Kromerth was supposed to be received. Apparently twice a month a caravan brings parcels from the mainland to Aylesbury loaded with stuff from family and friends. Love letters, recipes, heirlooms, jars of preservatives, care packages, the works.

This is the first quest that you have seen that comes directly from the Mercenaries union. The rest are usually put up by townsfolk. You know the kind. Arthur’s garden, that old woman with the rat problem (she said rats but they were actually raccoons), and every other mundane issue that comes with living a rustic life. 

Which is why you want-- “This one, Emma,” You reaffirm with a jab of your finger against the parchment. Your eyes light up over the stamped _twenty five percent pay increase_ at the top of the page. “Can you get me the route the convoy was on, roughly?”

“You are a saint if you get this done today. My Ma has something precious for my daughter on that caravan and if you can find it, I, I will seriously owe you one.”

Music to your ears. Bingo.

“Got it. What was it, do you know? If I know what I’m looking for I can scavenge for it a bit easier.”

“It was Ma’s baby doll. You see, she hasn’t been feeling well recently and wants to start portioning off what she owns so that it doesn’t get thrown out when she passes. Ha, I used to play with that thing when I was a kid, and for a moment I was worried she might give it to my brothers scoundrel of a youngin’, however, rightfully so, it’s coming to my daughter.”

Kingslayer’s hilt brays under your grip as you nod your head. “I will do my best to find it; I promise.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Even with a map, highlighted itinerary, and a strong set of legs that would make the old you jealous, it still takes a few hours for you to find your destination. Somewhere along the way the well paved dirt roads turned to jagged stone. Overgrown grass made it hard to relocate your path. However, you knew you were on the right track when you started to pick up scraps of white linen.

You just did not expect to find what now lies before you. You glance over your shoulder and back to the silhouette of Ayelsbury that does not exist, you are too far away. You only have the vaguest idea of where you are looking. A sour taste gathers along your tongue as your mouth waters. You spit before heaving a sigh and turning back.

Scattered halves of splintered wood plaster the scene with no thoughtful direction. What remains of the Caravans cotton topper is riddled with jagged claw marks. Splatters of preservatives of dark purple and orange, mixed with shards of glass, ooze over pebbles and trampled foliage. The air staggers between sweet and rotten. 

Ants and other bugs of the like swim in the spoiled goods. Soon, you are certain, this scent will attract other... _things_. You just do not know what... _things_. The wind rustles tall stalks of grass as you swing your head from side to side before taking some overly cautious steps forward. You can never be too careful.

You lift a soggy letter out of a drooling jar of liquefied jam. What could have done this? Your blood runs cold as you take a large step back, eyes darting towards the front of the caravan. Holy shit. Holy shit where the hell is the driver?! The horses?!

You dash over to where you assume the front of the caravan is, hands flailing frantically through bowed pieces of wood, whip rope, and god, you hope this sticky red stuff is not blood…

There is nothing. Rather, no one. You smear the clotted substance over your fingertips and the shine of your armor reveals that it is fortunately just more jam. A wince pulls at your lips as you sniff your thumb just to make sure. Cloying, but not coppery like blood, more fragrant like strawberries or plums. Gooey, too. Aayla is going to howl when she sees you.

You wipe off your hand onto your tasset before peering inside the caravan. Sunlight aids your view in a pale glow as you sweep aside the cloth entrance. Wow. This looks like Santa Clause got in a drunk driving accident. Another sigh. This is going to take awhile.

So you gather what is not destroyed. Whatever is not coated in jam, or the hidden shattered pickled onions that now have the confinements of the inside of the caravan smelling unruly pungent, or pierced by planks of wood. Gods, this is a disaster. The entire time you sift through your keep or no keep pile your mind races with again, the thoughts of what did this? What could have done this? There are obvious signs of a struggle but there’s no body. No horses.

Maybe they got away? That’s it. The horses ran and the driver rode them to safety.

...You hope.

You flop down to your bottom and smirk as you cradle your prize. After digging through the sentimental junk that means probably the world to others and nothing to you, you finally retrieved a small brunette doll. The hair appears to be made of yarn, the eyes two different colored buttons, and the dress a picnic like cross stitch red and white design. Sadly the left foot is stained and after a quick whiff you can tell it’s the vinegar from the pickling substance. You shrug. It can be washed.

After fashioning a sack made of poorly tied knots from the caravans topper you pack it tight with everything you managed to salvage. Letters, the few jars that were not broken, boxes tied with ribbons, etc. You stuff the doll down your armor, tucking it away underneath a thin black shirt. Funny enough you remember this shirt and the knee length shorts that go with it. It was Yggdrasil’s default clothing to cover nudity when creating an avatar.

By the time you are nearly done the sun is setting. Ugh, you do not want to make this trip back to Aylesbury in the dark but the thought of staying here is out of the question. You stow what’s left into your oversized satchel, careful with where you have positioned the delicates with the _‘Hey at least I found it’_ items. You are nearly done when a glint of silver skips across your eyes. 

Oh? What’s this? You lift up a petite dagger and turn it over a few times. Slim, more of a letter opener, but the eye catching part comes from the minor details. A hand etched hilt with swirls created from heating steel rods and carefully melting in filigree. Dew sized rubies down the fuller. A pewter edge with polished silver. You frown as a pang of loneliness strikes your heart.

Momonga would have loved this. He was always collecting off the wall rare or unique items back in Yggdrasil. It was kind of his thing. Where you were always after whatever you could get your grubby hands on Momonga was selective. Sure he had some gag items but they were rare one time logins, like that silly Mask of Envy. Which is why you think he would have really liked this. You have not seen anything nice like this in this new world since, well, your Chasm Strider set or Kingslayer.

You gulp as you run a thumb over the letter openers dull fringe and it sounds off like a wine glass being made to sing. Could Momonga somehow be here? What are the odds of you both somehow uh, transferring? Getting stuck? With each growing day the part of you that thinks this might be a dream or a glitch is dying. Just like the fleeting thought that Momonga is somewhere here with you.

 

* * *

 

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	8. Heartstrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ⚔️💜 [Holly's Armor/Chasm Strider](https://www.deviantart.com/download077/art/Chasm-Strider-817653411?ga_submit_new=10%3A1571716297) 💜⚔️

⚔️  𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓  ⚔️

_Child of Jörmungandr AU _

_ Chapter eight _

 Heartstrings ** _  
_**

**_________**

“Overcome by this vivid dream

When the odds aren't what they seem

You've got a friend to watch your back and guide the way.”

_ Incandescent  _

_ The Aviators  _

* * *

 

It is all comfortably familiar, but the atmosphere lingers on eerie as you shoulder your way into the mercenaries union. The doors creek open. Cold light from the overcast morning hangs in the air like mist. Reminds you of showing up to work an hour before your shift during the holiday season. Times when you were the first to turn on the lights, boot up the computers, and start the first brew of many cups of coffee. 

Damn, you would kill a man in cold blood for a cup of joe right about now. Walking from Ayeslbury, to the caravan, and then back has set an ache so deep in your thighs you think they are going to fall off and leave you as nothing but a torso. Just walk away and find another body.

_Bye bye._

After slumping into a chair, tossing your cargo onto a table, and fighting the good fight to stay awake for just a moment longer your head finally starts to bob. Screw the coffee; You just want a warm bed. Maybe you will close your eyes for a bit? Yeahh, that does sound nice. Just a wink of sleep should be okay..

Well, it would be nice. Would have been awesome! However you were _not_ the first person here. How else would the doors have been open? What sounds like an effeminate bullfrog attempting to charm a suitor via song cracks your eyes open. You place both hands on the table before you to aid in lifting yourself up. Your vision blurs like a camera lens attempting to focus until you spot the source of the throaty chirping.

The bar maiden. The freakin’ _bar maiden._

It should be criminal to be happy or sing before noon. And the large breasted woman behind the counter? Is both. 

“That’s a long walk, from wheravah you happened to have came from,” She strangles back a sigh and halts her, uh...song. If you could even call it that. Before you can get a word in she tosses an arm towards the entryway. “I just swept there and you’ve went and tracked in half the town.”

Holly sized footprints litter the floor boards. You bite back a groan. “My bad. Look, I’m dyin’ here. Just give me a second and point me in the direction of a broom and I’ll sweep it up, kay?”

“Good! I have enough to deal with without handling your mess. For goodness sakes, have you _even_ seen these…” Damn lady. They’re footprints, not a dick; Don’t take it so hard. You stop paying attention and fumble over to a broom. Screw the dust pan, you’ll just sweep the mess outside. 

Her incessant complaining melts into her dreadful singsong voice once more. Wonderful. You aren’t sure what your preference is, but you wish like hell you could shut her up. If only she had an off button. 

The bristles of your broom scrape against the floor. It does not take long to clean the entryway. A few sweeps here, digging some dirt out of the cracks in the boards there, and furiously swiping your pile of dust out the door later has the task done. 

As you close the door you can feel the buzz of heat against the knob from the sun's warmth. It is pleasant and sends a tickle of chills up your arms. A heaved sigh breaks free from your lips as you slide the door shut. You want to go _home._ Not Aayla’s house, not Arthurs, but _home_. More often than not all you wanted was to stay in Yggdrasil. You even debated quitting your job and lying to Momonga that you were instead laid off. That way you could stay in the game as long as you’d like. No consequences. A win win situation that you never took yourself up on because if you don’t have anything, you at least have your integrity.

It was always on the back of your mind, though. Especially on hard days at work. You know the kind. Those days where five minutes feel like an hour and where you would prefer the alternative of starving to death rather than being at your job. The thought burned in you like a wish that you desperately wanted to grant yourself. 

But now as you rest the broom back in it’s corner the mocking line _‘Be careful what you wish for’_ echoes through you. You swallow the cold stone lodging itself into your throat as you resume your seating. There is no use lamenting on this right now. At least you have _this._ You are lucky to have what you have due to so much still being unknown to you. You should be grateful!

You just..never thought you would be starting over. But no one really does, do they? Everything is going to be okay, right?

Right...

Your attention is pulled away from the storm in your mind and towards Emma, who has finally arrived. Instinct has you looking to the wall for a clock. There isn’t one. You smirk. Oops.

Sigh, some things are going to take a lot longer to get used too.

Energy floods through your veins as Emma glances between you and the knapsack of deliveries. Her eyes smile before her lips can match as she asks, “Did you find it? Please tell me you found it.”

You fish down your breastplate to retrieve the doll. It is a little tattered and damp from sweat. A pang of guilt draws a pit in your stomach as you reach it towards her. “Yeah, yeah I did. I’m sorry about the state it’s in, but I wanted to keep it safe.”

You pat your chest piece for added measure. Emma runs her fingers through the dolls yarn hair. She does not look back up to you. She instead fixes her gaze towards the doll as if it is the one who is talking to her and not you. “Thank you. Really, thank you. You might think it silly but it means a lot to me that my daughter gets this. I’m sure there’s more than a few things in that bag that mean a lot to others, too. You’ve really done this town a favor, Artorian,” Emma twirls a lock of the dolls hair before whispering, “That’s what it means to be a Mercenary. We haven’t had a good one in a long time so...it’s really nice to have you.”

“Oh uh,” You scratch the back of your neck as you face the ground. Your body grows warm. “Don’t uh, mention it. I was happy to help.” You just wanted to get paid. But watching Emma cradle a doll that was once hers so many years ago? You can see the nostalgia dawn on her face. There are so many memories that simple doll holds and can still give, and yeah, you did just want to get paid. 

Some things, however, are worth more than their weight in gold.

You give the pregnant sack of goods a few gentle swats. Sure, you are tired, but you are not _that_ tired. You stifle a yawn as you stand up, stretch, and point back to the bag. “Do you have a contract drawn up for that yet? Let me wash my face and I’ll take it on.”

Emma tucks the doll away into a purse that she carries on her hip. Her brows pinch together before she frowns. “No, I do not have anything made yet. I wasn’t sure if you would come back with anything so I didn’t bother. And I’m not going to bother with it. Not yet. Get some rest and come back later. I’ll have it made then.”

“Orrrrr,” You lean forward on the tips of your toes. “You could do it now? That way everyone gets what they’ve already been waiting too long for and I can get it out of the way! I mean, what’s the use in putting it off? I could use the cash and the town wants their stuff. It’s a win win.”

“I saw you hobbling your way here through my bay window this morning. You’ve been up all night and while I like the thought of getting everyone what is there’s promptly? I don't fancy the idea of you making these deliveries on no sleep. What if you mix up some of the packages? People will come in here and riot and I don’t want to deal with that. I have enough on my plate.”

“Hey now, you didn’t think I’d even get the stuff in the first place. But I did. Trust me,” You swing the bag over your shoulder as you straighten your posture. “I’ve got this!”

Emma sneers as she looks away. “Don’t make me regret this.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

You can not help but notice that all of the houses in Aylesbury appear blurry as you drag a finger over your address book. Their soft hues of yellow trim, wait, no, brown, or is that green? Nah, it is definitely white.  

...Maybe beige.

Okay, so, maybe you bit off more than you can chew. But this is nothing! Back at your old job, that _oh god you never put in a two weeks but how could you all things considered,_ you pulled loads of overtime when saving up to buy what you needed to play Yggdrasil. It was nothing to work up and towards eighteen hours, crash on the studio’s lounge for four, and then rise and shine to doll up your old makeup only to do it all over again. It became a routine.

Stifling a yawn you lurch up the steps before you to slip a few letters through the sleeve in the door. You cross reference the names and, wait, is this Runnington or Bringham...you lift your eyes up to see the numbers 804 perched above the door. Okay, 806 and that’s Runnington. Cool, next house.

Your heart thuds into an irregular beat as you twiddle with the dagger that reminds you of Momonga. Standing on a porch full of potted plants and wind chimes you take in a lengthy breath of air that makes your head swim. No one would notice if you pocketed this. Hell, they’re lucky that you even found it! As the rubbies across the letter openers hilt glitter in the rising sunlight you heave a sigh. With one finger on the tip and another upon the pommel you twirl the blade in a lazy spin. Slumping your shoulders you rest the dagger on an oval table near the doorstep as you take your leave. You glance over your shoulder to read 814 Comarose painted onto a petite wooden sign hanging from the porch. Turning towards your booklet you read 814 Comarose. 

The stop before last is the largest house in Aylesbury. Two story and is reminiscent of a Victorian with a wrap around porch. A swing set for two hangs from the porch ceiling and creaks in the breeze. 806 Runnington is written into the iron mail slot. Huh, that’s familiar. You dig through your bag and gather what you need to deliver, a letter, a few jars of preservatives, this seems about right. You recheck your address book and lift a brow when you read...804 Bringham? Didn’t you just deliver there?

You shake your head to help wake yourself up. Nah, you’re just tired. Sliding the letters through the mail box you reach over to place the other stuff beside the door. A yawn tickles the roof of your mouth as you hop down the steps and make it to your last stop.

All that’s left are letters that you stuff into a mailbox sitting outside of a house with tall grass. _Finally._ You glance up to the sky to see that it’s somewhere around midday. All you want to do is sign your paperwork that you have finished this mission, mumble your way through collecting your pay, and then shuffle to Aayla’s and sleep.

With your back against the door to the mercenaries union you heave your way through, stumbling in with your fist held high in triumph. Haha, suck it Emma--!? Grunting as you straighten your posture, you halt mid stride through the guild hall as a woman with a voice like nails on a chalkboard wails at Emma.

You screw your eyes shut as Emma glares past her and towards you. Her cold blue eyes are piercing daggers that would have you pinned to the wall if they could shoot from their sockets. You know that look, and, sadly, you know the voice that’s wailing at her.

You’re in trouble.

“This is unheard of!” The woman shrieks. Oh yeah, you’re in _big_ trouble. “I have been waiting for my spring melon jam for almost a month now! It’s essential…”

As she goes on and on about how she needs this jelly for a certain recipe you start to feel your eye twitch. She’s that person. The customer that thinks customer service means you’re less than human and they’re a step above god. 

Emma tries to placate the damn banshee as she leans forward to place a hand on her shoulder, “I understand your frustrations, Mrs. Lambergh--”

“Don’t you dare Mrs. Lambergh me! My name is Constance!” Your gut flops as she turns around with a hand to her side, gesturing around the guildhall “Is everyone here just incompetent?!”

...Shit. You know why she’s here. The thought comes to you that you might have mixed up some of the orders and...maybe you should have listened to Emma. This is growing more and more apparent as Constance continues to bitch and moan while Emma takes every chance she can get to let you know exactly what she’s thinking with her eyes.

That you should have listened to her.

“I’m a good person, I’ll have you know! My husband has donated countless dollars to the mercenaries union and this is how you repay him?! All I wanted to do was…”

Wow, Emma is a champion. 

“...and that’s why this is so unfair! I even tried to run around town and find who has my jam and the ingrates had already opened it up and started cooking with it!”

Okay that is kinda funny. 

“I have wasted half of my day on this nonsense!”

Yeah, and so have you.

“Constance, I assure you, you have my sincerest apologies and moving forward I will personally guarantee that this does not happen agai--”

“You are absolutely correct this won’t happen again! I will make sure of it!”

_She’s going to ask to speak to Emma’s manager. She’s going to ask to speak to Emma’s manager._

“I demand that I speak to your higher up!”

Don’t laugh. Now is not the time to laugh. It’s not that the situation is funny, it freakin’ sucks, but damn, this woman is predictable. You have handled hundreds of her over the phone and at the front counter of your old job. Each one is the same. They scream until they’re blue in the face and each exude a sense of entitlement that you don’t think you’ll ever understand. 

You understand why she’s upset, but all things considered she wasn’t even supposed to get that stupid melon jam. If you hadn’t have taken the job offer…Ugh. Regardless this is your fault.

Emma bites back a sigh as she turns towards her desk, “I can refer you to the council in Kromerth, however, as it stands I am the Head Chief of the Mercenaries union here.”

Constance looks down through her nose as she gives Emma a once over, “You would think with all that money they make in Kromerth they could afford better,” Rolling her eyes Constance turns to face the door and you stand a little straighter. You’re in front of the door still. Shit.

“Let me guess,” she sneers, “That’s the mercenary that messed up my delivery?”

Okay. Just like before, a million damn times before. Deep breathe, and find a tone that fits somewhere between groveling yet still standing your ground, and, “Yes, that’s me. I can’t imagine how frustrated you are and I know saying sorry--”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Yikes. Okay, time to change tactics. “And no, no you quite possibly can’t imagine what I am enduring!”

How melodramatic.

As you try to settle this woman down you take notice of how sunken in her cheeks are. Thick strands of blonde hair that she desperately tries to curl every morning but fail makes her appear less of the hoity toity woman she thinks she is and more frazzled as the woman she probably fears she is. Hooked nose, that weird butt chin, and you hate to admit that her eyes are that shade of brown that’s more caramel than the typical dark walnut hue. Her dress is nice, floral, and she’s outfitted in a straw sunhat with a bow.

Well, when apologizing doesn’t work..

You clear your throat, “You’re right, I can’t, but...I just also wanted to say that I really like your outfit. It’s really pretty.”

Flattery always worked around the studio. If you can’t approach someone through groveling strike at their ego. And Constance, with the way she acts and dresses, definitely has an ego. 

Constance’s lips peel back to expose the taut pink of her gums as she hisses, “I don’t care what you think. You’ve completely ruined the plans I have had for my husbands return all because you’re too incapable of reading a few numbers and letters.”

Every hair on your body stands on edge. As you curl your fingers into a tight balled fist you look away from Constance, because if you don’t, you are going to lift up your scarf and spit in this woman’s face. 

Gritting your teeth you find it best to just say no more. Right now nothing is going to satiate this woman. Congratulations, Constance. She’s just made it to your top five most hated list.

Emma speaks up as she steps forward, “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

Constance looks up in thought before turning to face Emma, “Matter of fact there is something you can do. I want her to be reprimanded.”

Yeah, no shit. You already know Emma is going to chew your ear off once Constance leaves. 

Emma steals a glance at you before sharply nodding her head, “I have every intention of dealing with her.”

“Oh no, no, no, no,” Constance cackles as she raises a hand to her chest, dipping forward like a southern belle, “You mistake me. I’m not going to leave and have you let her slide under the table. Do you think I’m the only delivery she blundered?”

“...I realize your concern. However, Artorian is our only mercenary--”

“I don’t care if she’s the last one from here to Edinburgh! Place her on suspension!”

“Wait, suspension?!” You blurt out as you raise both of your hands up, “Wait a sec, I-I know I messed up, I’m sorry, but there’s no need--”

“She will be placed on suspension and I will dock her pay.” Emma dead pans. Your heart drops like a piano from a third story building. 

As Constance smirks and shrugs a shoulder in some form of agreement you glance towards the doll on Emma’s desk before turning back to Emma, voice cracking, “Emma…?”

_'Don’t make me regret this’_

Emma’s eyes narrow as she looks past you and towards the doorway, “You are being placed on a temporary suspension for the following month. The Mercenaries Union takes pride in our work and moving forward should you make this mistake again we would rather be an army of none rather than an army of one who fails to meet the expectations of our people.”

...Ouch. Your posture deflates like someone letting the helium out of the balloon to your soul. Never did you think you would miss your old job, but wow, right now? You really miss the comfort of seniority and knowing that even if you messed up your boss would have your back as you did hers.

You turn to Emma’s desk a final time before making an exit. You don’t look at Emma. Stupid doll.

“Is she really going to leave without saying goodbye? Do you people just hire anyone up and off the streets with a good set of armor? Why, _the nerve_.”

You want to stop. You want to turn around. Spin on a heel and throw your arms up high and sing, _‘Thank you so much for your time! Have a nice day!’_ But you don’t. You’re tired and a your ego is in shambles. What good what it do, anyways?

Pressing through the union doors and slogging your way down the steps you nearly collide with a young man carrying a crate full of letters and other commodities. Muttering a soft _s_ _orry_ as you move past him, he asks, “Excuse me, is the Mercenaries Head Chief available? It seems that a few of our deliveries were mixed up and I was hoping to sort them out.”

You close your eyes for a moment. “Yeah, she’s inside.”

 

 

* * *

 

  
A goose down quilt that has seen more years than you cocoons your body. Your leg hangs off the small couch in Aayla’s front room, foot grazing the floor. The only thing letting you know you are awake is the warm scent of a hearty stew and the bubbling of it boiling in the kitchen. 

Yawning, you peel yourself up. Vertigo nets your mind and you feel like your head is on the floor. Nope. You lay back down. The room is dark, but the pale fog of the moon flooding in from a nearby window aids you in seeing the burned hunks of ceiling. Black char striations travel to flaps of hanging plaster. In more spots than not the ceiling bows as if heavy with water damage. You think with the necessary supplies you could fix it. All you would need is...uh...some wood? Whatever ceilings are made of, a hammer, nails, and some paint.

Who are you kidding? You do not know how to fix a house. You are nothing close to a carpenter, but hey, it can not be _that_ hard. It will give you something to do while you are on temporary suspension. Which is a level of bullshit you are still attempting, and failing, to come to terms with.

You grit your teeth. Never mind the good things you have done at a slaves wage! Seriously, if you are a good judge of anything the gold in your pocket is equivalent to maybe forty dollars back home. Forty dollars. Forty stingy bucks for two weeks worth of labor. How will you ever get to a higher rank with this new issue looming over your head? God, you are such an idiot. You should have just..

“Hey there, are you awake?”

Huh?

A soft spoken Aayla takes her seat beside you. In her hands she cups a small bowl of piping hot stew, steam lifting from the middle. The robust scent lays itself on your tongue like a velvet blanket. Your stomach lets out a growl as you chuckle. “Yeah, I’ve uh... been awake for a few now?” You pause. “..Is that for me?”

You hope it is for you.

Aayla nods, smiling. “Be careful, it’s fresh off the stove.”

 You lift up your scarf, mouth watering. You have made an art of eating with this thing on. “Thank you, it looks _really_ good.”

“You’re silly!” Aayla giggles, swiftly covering her mouth to conceal her laughter. Ekon must be asleep. She leans forward, hushed, but there’s still a titter in her voice as she whispers, “It would be easier if you just took that off.”

You have been playing this game of dodge ball with her for awhile now. She asks about the armor and you change the subject. An eyebrow is raised and you pretend like you don’t hear her. So now as color floods back into your skin from sipping in your helping of stew you have a decision to make.

What do you tell her? Well, you need something believable and something you can remember. No tall tales, even though saying that you wear your armor because you were cursed by a witch and if you take it off you’ll burst into flames does sound kinda cool..

“I..I can’t,” You set the bowl down into your lap. “I..I lost a friend and this was their armor. I vowed to never take it off after what happened.”

You chew on your cheek. What are you doing? What happened to no tall tales?! That sounds ominous as hell!

“Oh, I um, I...I’m so sorry for your loss, I didn’t know--”

“Don’t worry about it, really. It’s just something I uh, I don’t like talking about.” You suck.

Awkward silence consumes the room. Your posture slouches as you finish your meal.

“..I’m sorry that there’s no meat.”

“Huh?”

“The stew,” Aayla sighs. “There’s no meat.”

You look down into your bowl. A ring of dusty brown with hints or orange dot where the stew once was. “Wow, I...honestly it was so good that I didn’t even notice.”

She even makes carrots taste good. Huh, they’re probably the ones from Arthur’s garden. During the in between times of working for the Mercenaries Union he has gifted you with all kinds of different goods. Things from his garden, biscuits, and other tasty treats. You take most of it back to Aayla, which still finds a wake of making its way back to you.

Aayla glances over to you, faking a smile, before returning her gaze to the floor. Yeesh. You put yourself in this situation, so time to find a way out. You clear your throat. “Sooo...how was your day?”

Bingo.

“Not bad, just the usual. How about you?”

“I feel like today and yesterday are the same. I just kinda came in and crashed.”

“I noticed,” Aayla places a hand over her mouth as she giggles. “When I said hello all you did was mumble. You went straight for the couch and you were gone by the time I brought a blanket.”

“That sounds about right,” You snicker before heaving a sigh. Aayla’s brows furrow as you fish a hand into your breast plate. “Look, I uh...you’re gonna need this.”

Her eyes widen as you drop a coin purse into her hands. The gold clinks as she shifts the small sack about. “Wha--...I, you know I can’t take this from you.”

Yeah, you were expecting that response. You shrug a shoulder as you stare ahead. “Tough shit.”

Aayla’s nose crinkles. Yet again she provides you with another response you predicted. She did not like that one. While barking out a laugh you lean back into your seat, folding a leg over the other. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Look, here’s the deal. I uh...I screwed up. I took on a bit more than I could chew and now I’m on probation with the union.”

Facing the ground, Aayla gives it one hell of a confused look before turning back to you. “Why...what happened? Why would they put you of all people on probation?”

“Cause I botched a few deliveries and pissed off the wrong person. Some absolute bitch named Constance tha--”

“Constance?!” Aayla shrieks and the sound of her suddenly shrill voice startles the crap out of you. Well, if you weren’t awake before you sure as hell are now.

Before you can respond Aayla’s nostrils are flaring and she’s ranting. Listening with a smirk and cocked brow you note that you’re pleased she can’t see your face. No need in her knowing you’re totally getting a kick out of this. Teehee.

Oh, she’s cute when she’s mad.

“Why I _never_. I swear! Of course Constance would be behind this. She is a no good hussy I tell you. If she isn’t causing someone as much misery as she herself lives in then she’s not happy.”

You snicker as Aayla sets the coin purse away into one of the table drawers. Good girl. As she crosses her arms you ask, “So, I take it that you know her?”

“Know her?!” Aayla scoffs. “Back in Edinburgh I had the _pleasure_ of sitting next to her in trade school! You see, ever since I was a girl I wanted to take up learning how to play the harp. We had a neighbor who would play on the weekends and it was something about how the sunset would hit the harp in unison with the songs he’d play that just drew me in.”

“It was like magic, I tell you. However, we just didn’t have the money when I was a girl to put me through school. Mom always said though that if I still wanted to play by the time I grew up then it was meant to be, and she never could have been more right about anything. As soon as I was of age I found a way to put myself through trade school.”

You smile as you whisper, “So you saved every penny you could. Nothing else mattered for a few years, right? And while that time passed, you didn’t even really feel alive, moreso that you kinda felt like pages on a calendar flapping by. But, when you finally had enough and you stepped inside your school, you remembered what it was like,” You pause to let out a breathy sigh. “What it was like to breathe again cause you had forgotten how.”

“..How..How do you know that?”

You shrug a shoulder. “Ehhh, I spent a few years saving up for something I wanted, too. Around eight, actually...Annyyyways. So, I’m dyin’ to know how you met Constance. From the sounds of it and from what I experienced she’s a real treat.”

“A treat? Not even a hog would give her a second look, and those things will eat anything.”

“Damn,” you laugh. “I mean, yeah, she’s a total bitch, but, that bad?”

“Don’t even get me started.”

 

 

* * *

 

The bottle of wine before you appears a shade darker than black, but pours a bubbly red. Must be one of those fancy fogged bottles? Grasping the neck, you carousel the bottle and watch the picture of the man on a horse gallop round and round upon it’s label. 

Hiccuping, you set the bottle down. Heat spreads itself through your body and rests like a furnace in your cheeks. After your last swig the room is seeming to spin in a kaleidoscope of colors as your head swims. You lick your lips to give yourself a final taste of the bitter sweet wine. Somewhere between a grape and a strawberry, tart, but not enough to make your lips pucker. Definitely enough, however, to give you something more than a buzz.

Aayla grunts as she heaves in something taller than herself and cloaked in a sheet. She brings it into the kitchen from what you assume is a storage room of sorts. Set on a blanket she scoots it into view before wiping her brow, panting, all while muttering, “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Hey now,” You slouch forward and point a finger her way. “If you can talk me into the wine then I can talk you into showing me what you’re made of, yeah?”

You see, normally? You’re not much of a drinker. Too much for too little of a pay off in your mind. What with the nausea, glorified accidents by social media, broken homes, abuse, and all that jazz it’s just been something you typically steered away from. But when Aayla said she had a bottle of wine she’s been keeping hidden and right now sounded like the right time to crack that bad boy open? Like hell you were going to say no.

Especially after today and hearing more about Constance. She’s about what you figured in combination with what you experienced earlier. An irritating little shit who gets off on complaining incessantly. Which, hey, you can get behind a good ol’ fashioned bitch fest. Everyone needs to vent now and again. 

But lord have mercy this woman lives on negative energy. You know the kind, the type of person that can’t see the good in anything? The one who shows up to a birthday party and takes the opportunity to tell everyone present they once had cancer or some crap. Which is what Constance did to Aayla nearly every day while she was in trade school. Sat right next to her and just opened her flaps and went on and on about how hard learning the harp was or how unfair the teacher was.

Which was manageable. So what if she was a downer, yeah? But no, as you learned, she’s vindictive as well. If she doesn’t get her way she will make things her way. So she pulled the oldest trick in the book against Edinburgh’s only harp instructor. Claimed that he grabbed her butt or some stupid shit and got him thrown out.

Aayla left the school after Cadance bragged about it. Served him right or something of the like. That and there wasn’t another harp instructor to be found. Apparently it’s a pretty rare instrument.

Which is why you want to hear Aayla play it. She can grumble all she wants about how she can’t believe you talked her into this, but you know for a fact that at the mention of her getting to play for someone? She was excited, like a kid pulling out all of their favorite toys to show their new friend. You could just...see it in her eyes. Huh, you wonder when is the last time she played...

As Aayla takes her seat she reaches for the bottle of wine that you’re already pouring into her glass. Cocking a brow, you allow a smirk to tug at your lips as Aayla swallows down her share in two gulps. Damn, you go girl. With flushing cheeks Aayla pulls the curtain from off of her instrument to reveal that all that is gold does in fact glitter.

Too many strings to count vibrate and project mellow _thumps_ from the removal of the cloth. Down the pillar of the harp falls gothic architecture brushed in gold. Along the body and soundboard are valleys of scratches and chunks of separated wood. Looking down to the pedals you notice that one is missing. Glancing back up the neck, however, all of the tuning pins are in tact and appear to be in good shape. 

As Aayla begins to pluck the strings you both recoil as they shriek. Quickly, she darts her hands up to the tuning pins and laughs, “Sorry, it’s been a _very_ long time…”

“I can tell.~"

After a few more strums and some other odd sounds Aayla finds her way into a pleasing melody. With one hand slightly higher than the other she begins to pluck the strings, and it looks like she is sifting her hands through streams of water. The harp sings as gentle thumps and sighs project from between the strings and its hollow body. 

Blinking slowly, you clear your mind as you watch her play. Every now and then she hits a sour note, but really, it only makes it that much more beautiful as you both share a laugh. Somewhere from when she slid her hands to the left and started strumming with a deeper pitch you brought your head down to rest on the table. 

“..Can I tell you a story?” Aayla whispers, humming in tune with the harp.

“Yeah, I’d really like that.”

A moment in time drifts by. The harp softens as Aayla slows her dreamlike melody, “Well, it all started when I was but a girl…”

 

* * *

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we've all had a Constance. Probably more than a few. I remember mine was a lady upset about an order being late and she slammed her fist against my counter and actually cracked the glass. 
> 
> I think Holly needs some R&R with Arthur Yaxley. Arthur Yaxley the _third_ if he does say so himself. 
> 
> Holly - I like your outfit! 
> 
> Constance - I LiEk yOuR oUtFiT!


	9. The eighth wonder

⚔️  𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓  ⚔️

_ Child of Jörmungandr AU  _

_ Chapter nine  _

 The eighth wonder ** _  
_**

**_________**

“If you can listen now to reason and take the whispers to the heart.”

_ Angel of the dark  
_

_ The Aviators _

* * *

 

It’s about that time of the week again when Arthur needs help with his garden. Funny how the more things change, the more they stay the same. It’s been about what, three weeks now? Wait, maybe four...

But routines, as always, find a way to be made.

“Cut me some slack, would ya?” You laugh as another splinter breaks off of Ekon’s sword as he strikes it against a blocking Kingslayer.

“Awww!” Ekon whines. Fitting his finger into the missing chunk of his sword, he huffs, “This was my last good one! Now I gotta widdle another..”

“What about the great sword you’re working on? The one you keep behind your bedroom door? Yeahh, don’t give me that look. Your Mom might not know about that, but I do.”

“You can’t tell her about that,” Ekon insists with a pout. “She’ll ground me for a month. At least!”

As Ekon swipes at his bangs, fingering away the beads of sweat collected on his brow, you chuckle, “Oh, she’d have your ass for good,” You pause as you toss a glance towards the back door, “..Haha, actually, she’d have both of our asses.”

“Yeah, our asses would be grounded for like, two months!”

“Hey,” you scold, “Don’t say that word.”

Ekon scowls, mumbling to himself about how it’s not fair that you get to say that word and he doesn’t. You roll your eyes. Little shit. 

Re-sheathing Kingslayer upon your hip, you can’t help but smile as Ekon parrots your movements. As he slides his chipped sword away, he pipes up with a song in his voice, “Maybe you’d tell me how you got so strong? I wanna be like that, someday!”

“I eat my vegetables.”

Ekon frowns, “Nu-uh. Not always! You don’t eat your carrots.”

“Hey now! I thought we had a silent agreement? You eat my carrots, I eat your peas. Your Mom doesn’t find out and it’s a win win, ya hear?”

“Fffiiinnneeee,” Ekon sighs. You ruffle his hair up as he skips to your side and asks again, “Really though! Would you tell me? Please?”

You wince. He’s a cute little twerp, ain’t he? “Lots of grinding, I mean, err, training. Yeah! A lot of training. Here, I’ll tell you what,” You pop a squat. Peering at him through the slits of your helmet, you hum, “How about I help you make a new sword this weekend?”

Ekon’s big brown eyes nearly swallow you whole as he gasps, “Really, Arty?! You promise?!”

“Yeah, I promise,” Clasping a hand on his shoulder, you rock him back and forth as you chide, “Now scram. I’ve got stuff I gotta take care of.”

Ekon giggles, chasing you down and to the front yard as he prods, “Are you going to Arthur’s?”

“Mhm.”

“Will you bring me back some of his sweet breads?”

“If I don’t eat them all, sure,” you chuckle, “Okay, seriously. Shoo! Go bug your Mom. Tell her I said you could have that bottle of birch beer on the top shelf.”

Ekons face lights up, “Thank you!”

Yeahh, you’re never gonna hear the end of that from Aayla. Yikes. As Ekon races towards the house, you make a quick jump over the fence and dart towards Arthur’s. 

“Artorian!” Yeesh. You’re just gonna pretend you don’t hear Aayla hollering after you.

 

* * *

 

Humming your way down each row of the garden, you make sure to give extra care to the cabbages with your pail of water. Just a few extra sprinkles here and there. They’re greedy little bastards and always soak up more than the rest. Never mind the radishes, they don’t need much, but somehow they’re the ones that always manage to cluster with the most weeds. 

Speaking of which...bending down to a knee, you flip out a forked hand tool and pry out a few shrubs. Be gone! Tossing them into a bin, you equip a trowel and shovel dirt back into where the weeds once were. You pat the soil down with a contented sigh before moving on.

Wrapping your fingers around a leafy stem, you give a tug.  _ Pop!  _ Revealing a carrot, you finger away clumps of dirt. Shifting the potatoes in the basket upon your arm, you wiggle the carrot inside. Still need to make room for the peppers, hmm…

“You know, if they’d just up and redig our irrigation it’d make watering a whole lot easier,” Arthur whistles through his teeth, “It’s just those Trogs keep messin’ with it all, confounded things. I tell you what, I rather not fancy portioning the water I drink with what my garden needs.”

You pluck a few more carrots before you chime in, “Irrigation system? Aylesbury had water ducts?”

“Yup. We sure did! Not long ago, either,” Arthur’s walking stick rattles against the picket fence as he pokes and prods before making his way into the garden, “Water used to ferry in from the Heleanor river over yonder just a few months back.”

“Hmmm,” You stretch. Twisting from side to side, you crack your back before sighing, “Haven’t seen a job listing for that before. You think they’d place one up, that sounds like kinda a big deal?”

Arthur licks his lips a few times before giving into a slow nod, “Spot on, you are. However, I believe the politics of Kromerth might have somethin’ to do with that. The biggins up north ain’t fond of shelling out coin if they don’t have too.”

“They pay it for the caravans, though? That’s gotta add up?”

“Indeed, indeed. Yet, they’re a selfish lot. They don’t realize that they’ll just be paying more in the long run. The big numbers up and scare them, you see. The way I see it, it’s that they think they’re savin’ funds by only handing out so much biweekly. Hah! Fools. By the end of the year, their treasurer, I’m certain of it, will have more grey hairs than I do!”

Arthur taps your ankle before stopping before you. Reaching a hand into your basket, he feels around the goods before adding, “Only a few peppers this time, deary. They last longer on the vine than they do on my counter.”

“Yeah, I gotcha,” you offer Arthur the hook of your arm before heading towards the peppers. After a few steps, you ask, “..Do you think they’ll put that up, though? I mean, I bet it’d pay a lot. Like, a lot a lot.”

“Don’t get yer hopes up, youngin’. Other than the coin, there are some liabilities that come into place,” Arthur pauses to cough. Clearing his throat, he resumes, “Ahem! Gah, excuse me. Where was I? Oh, yes. Deary, keep in mind that should someone take said quest and not come back…”

“Ehhh, we waiver that. Mercenaries that sign the clause have a, ‘it’s your fault if shit rolls down hill’ kinda agreement.”

“While that’s good and true, keep in mind that unneeded death or injury can scare the masses. Why, I’m certain that the townsfolk in Kromerth are in a tizzy after losing that Caravan driver a few weeks back.”

You wince, “They never did find him, did they?”

“No. No they did not, my dear. Forgive this old fool, I up and forfeit the memory that you were the one that handled that charade.”

Shrugging a shoulder, you sigh, “Don’t worry about it. It happens, ya know? I mean, sure, they haven’t found him, but that doesn’t mean he’s dead. Right?”

Arthur's hum rattles from his throat, “Right you are, missy. Tis important to remain positive in such trying times! And in the name of optimism, might I declare that perhaps they will put in a request for the channels to be redug. Sure would be nice, don’tcha think?”

Squeaking a thumb against a waxy pepper, you pluck it from the vine as you nod, “Sure would.” Man, you wonder how much that kind of job could pay. Would it boost your rank? Maybe it’d be enough to hire someone to fix up Aayla’s house..

Arthur taps your ankle, “How many peppers do you up and have there? Four?”

You smile, “Yeah, four. Hey, not bad. You’re gettin’ really good at that.”

“And the potatoes? Tell me you have seven.”

“Almost,” You giggle, “Eight. You’re close!”

“Dag nabbit! I was certain you had seven.”

 

* * *

 

The sweet warmth of baked goods steam in the air. Moonlight bounces through the oval window above Arthur’s counter. The glint catches on your armor from across the room, atop a chair, with your helmet nestled on the arm.

Muting a sigh, you kick a leg back as you lean into your creaking seat. It’s not often you get to relax outside of your steel prison. As you lay your tail across the cooled flooring, chills race up your spine. Mmm, that’s freakin’ nice. Most of the time it’s stuffed down a legging or curled up behind your tasset. It gets sweaty, which is gross, so you savor the opportunity to just let it hang out.

Filling your lungs, your mouth waters as you prompt, “Didja make any of that pepper jam?”

“Oh! In fact, I did!” Arthur exclaims. “Here, let me go and grab some while I fetch the coin I owe you for the day.”

You chew on your cheek. Glancing towards the floor, then to Arthur, you call out, “Hey, uh, don’t worry about the money. I’m heading to the guild tomorrow to see if they’ll sign me on for a job, anyways. I know they’ve gotta be piling up with stuff.”

“Now, we’ve been through this before. I ain’t gonna be a charity case for you--”

“It’s not like that,” You assert. “You do a lot for me. The money ain’t nothin’ compared to that.”

Arthur taps his walking stick as he mutters to himself. Shaking his head, he grumbles, “Well, that’s just fine and dandy. But you can’t fool me. I know why you’re doin’ it.”

You chuckle as Arthur jabs his walking stick at your ankle, “You’ve got a good heart, deary. That’s what got you into this mess with the union in the first place! Remember?”

“Yeah, Yeahhh,” You wave your hand up as you chide. 

Arthur chuckles as he hobbles towards his pantry, “That young whippersnapper you live with, acorn? He fancies my sweet breads, mmm?”

Acorn? Hahaha! You throw a hand up to your mouth as you bark a laugh, “Yeah! He does. Mind if I take some back home with me?”

“That’s why I asked,” Arthur whistles. “And you’ll have to take that sweetheart Aayla some of my pepper jelly, too. Surely she likes the kick like you do?”

“Maybe? I dunno. I’ll let you know next time I see you if she’s a fan,” Leaning forward, your brows knit together as you watch Arthur feel around his pantry, “You um, need some help?”

“Is this jar I’m holding green or red?”

“Green.”

“Oh, goodie. I nabbed the right one! Now then, if she appreciates this then I’ll have to make another batch. It’s mighty fine stuff, used to be quite popular amongst my customers. Did you know that back home I could sell these for ten gold pieces a flagon?”

“Pffft!” Your eyes widen, “Ten?! That’s, that’s amazing! I’m lucky if I make that after a job!”

Arthur scoffs, “That’s cause the union are a buncha cheap good for nothin’s. Alas, yes, those were the good old days! Back when--Umph!”

Arthur trips, tumbling forward. You dart out of your seat to help steady him, and your heart is in your throat as his cane thunders to the floor. The jar of pepper jam follows, crashing into shards of glass and splatters of jelly.

“Oh my god, Arthur! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“M-My cane, i-if you would.”

“Yeah, of course, of course!” Quickly, you retrieve his cane and place it into his hands.

Arthurs brows pinch together as he taps his walking stick back and forth. Your stomach drops as he moves closer to you, poking his cane behind you. As he nudges your tail he sighs, giving it a few good pokes before stepping back.

This is bad. Color drains from your face as Arthur places both hands upon his cane and whispers, “I knew it. That’s what I nearly tripped over, aint it?”

“...Y-Yes.”

Arthur labors a sigh, “Listen hear, and listen well. I’ve known, just ain’t had the proof. I was just wishin’ you’d tell me yourself. Nevertheless, here we are. Call it a hunch, and I don’t know much, but I knew you were somethin’. Anyways, back where my Ismeria is from? All kinds of colorful folk lived together in peace. Suppose that’s where I get my tolerance from. Ain’t ever bugged me much if you’re green, blue, or have a tail. So long as you’re the friendly type.”

Arthur leans forward, voice edged with a dark tone as he warns, “Now, just because I don’t take trouble to you? Doesn’t mean that others are going to be as accepting. You have to be more careful. I don’t want to see anything happen to you, Artorian.”

“Holly,” Tears threaten to sting your eyes while you rasp, “My name is Holly.”

 

* * *

 

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	10. The Platinum coalition

⚔️  𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓  ⚔️

_ Child of Jörmungandr AU  _

_ Chapter ten  _

The Platinum coalition ** _  
_**

**_________**

“I don't know where my own dreams end and where the world begins.”

_ Ordinarily human _

_ The Aviators _

* * *

 

Cicada’s hum their song as the sun begins to rise. Edged with a warm, orange glow, you hang in the doorway as you watch it paint the sky with the coming of a new day. It’s a beautiful morning. One of those rare kinds where the clouds are a rainbow of pink and the air is that right kind of chilly. 

You can still catch the silhouette of the moon as you heave a sigh. “It’s nice, yeah?”

“Stop worrying,” Aayla insists. As she reaches over to fix your scarf and set the straps on your chest plate straight, she soothes, “It’s going to be fine.”

“And what if they say no?” 

“Then they say no.”

You belt out another sigh. “This place is falling apart. I mean, just look!” Reaching a hand towards the door frame, you peel off a charred splinter of wood to emphasize your point. You flick it outside as you continue, “I can’t help but think if I had been working instead of being on suspension all this time that some of this’d be fixed. I’d fix it myself, but.. I haven’t a clue how.”

Your shoulders slump. “I just feel so useless, ya know?”

“Please, don’t say that,” Aayla whispers. Fitting her hands on either side of your helmet, her bottom lip trembles as she hushes, “How can you feel that way when you mean so much to Ekon and I?”

You wish you had the courage to tell her what she and Ekon meant to you, too. Instead, as she begins to lift your helmet, you gently persuade her away. That will come at another time. Just...not right now.

Swallowing thickly, you whisper,  “I’ve gotta go. They’ll be opening soon.”

Aayla nods, eyes falling to the floor as she sighs, “Yes, you’re um, right. They should be opening up anytime now.”

Hesitantly, you take your first step outside. Damn it. Fuck! You want to say something, you just don’t know how. Or what. As an alternative, you say nothing while you head towards the mercenaries union. You don’t know how to tell her what she means to you.

So, you’ll show her.

 

* * *

  
  
You’ve never seen more than a few people at the mercenaries union. It’s just not a busy place in an already not busy town. For the most part? It’s Emma scribbling behind her counter, the bar maiden pretending to work, and as always, the normal crowd that bunches up at the same table and chairs near the window.

Today, however, is different.

Three soldiers stand before Emma’s desk. Well polished silver armor that shines like wet pearls decorates their bodies. Indigo tassets fall from their waist. Leather scabbards with sheathed swords upon their hips. An etched symbol that you don’t recognize glints on their chest.

Damn, these guys are fancy. A pit draws itself into your stomach as you creep forward. What if they’re here to become Mercenaries? Like hell you’ll ever get a job again with these guys around. They look like they’re the real deal.

With a new fire lit under your ass, you march towards the job board. A grin sweeps over your face. Fuck yeah. There looks to be about a dozen different jobs here. Hah! You were right. They have piled up. Snatching a few, you head towards Emma and the group of soldiers. 

Just be confident. Clearing your throat, you step between the three standing before Emma. Emma’s brows furrow as you reach the job listings towards her and request, “I’d like to take these for the day, please.”

Tentatively, Emma takes the listings. You ignore the whispering behind you as she fingers through them. With a sigh, she sets them face down. Poking a finger at the calendar she keeps glued to her desk, you grit your teeth, because yeah, you know. You’re a few days early. You’re not off on suspension yet, but come on! 

Emma shakes her head, and at least she has the decency to not announce to the world your shame as she states, “How about you take these after the weekend? They’ll still be here.”

You’re not gonna win this. The leather segments between the plating of your gauntlets bray as you ball up one of your fists. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Doing your best to hide your dismay, you hiss through your teeth, “I understand. Thank you for your time.”

“Hey, you! Yeah! If you’re not up and busy this weekend, why not join us?” A voice like that of someone who smokes sticks of dynamite rather than cigars shoots from over your shoulder. 

“Mmm,” One of the other soldiers grunts.

“Depends,” Giving Emma a quick look, you glance over your shoulder and ask, “What are you guys here for?”

“There’s a tomb south of Aylesbury that was sighted during King Jurdania’s annual hunt. Needless to say, he wants it taken care of,” The last of the three removes their helmet, revealing a woman with short, crisp white hair. Piercing green eyes size you up as her deep, brassy voice resumes, “That’s why the Platinum Coalition is here.”

Your blood rushes. Wait a damn second. Did you just hear that right? Infusing a calm into your voice so that you don’t sound too eager, you inquire, “Huh. A tomb?”

There’s no freakin' way.

“Mmm.”

“Yeah, you heard her! A tomb! Sounds fun, huh? Bet there’s lots a loot, lots a loot!” Shoving off his helmet, the scrawny one bounces like a grenade as he gives you a gapped tooth grin, “The name’s Quinn! This’ere is Tebald, and the gal before you is the iron fortress, Marion herself, of the notorious Platinum Coalition.”

“Nice to uh, meet you guys. The names Artorian, of the uhhh. Yeah. Just Artorian,” Well, that was stupid. Cringing a bit, you ask, “So, this...tomb. What do you guys know about it so far?”

“Other than it’s about two days out from here? Not much. Rumor has it that it’s crawling with undead, however. It’s why we could use an extra hand,” Marion’s eyes scan your frame before settling on Kingslayer, “You seem more than capable. What’s your rank?”

“...Copper,” You wince. “Only because I’m not from around here, though. Trust me, I’m good for it.”

“You’re just a Copper? Blimey! Oy, Emma, was it?” Quinn leans over the counter, voice dripping like spiked punch as he hums, “You lot down here keepin’ Mercenaries locked in Copper? By the looks of it, she should be Gold, if not Platinum.”

Emma shoots you a look, “With time, I’m sure she’ll make a fine Platinum Mercenary.”

“Heyy, like I said. I uh, haven’t been here long,” You know you’re pressing your luck as you take a step closer towards Emma’s counter, “How about I do like you said? Those jobs will be waitin’ for me next week, right? I’ll go ahead and join up with these guys, we’ll take care of that tomb, and then I’ll be back and ready for work. Whaddya say? Win win, yeah?”

You hold your breath as Emma taps her pen, “...My daughter hasn’t set the doll down you salvaged since I gave it to her,” Emma sighs. With a roll of her eyes, she opens a drawer, retrieves a sheet of paper, jots a few things down, and then slides it your way. 

“You know the drill. Sign, print, date,” Emma jabs her pen below your signature line, “And read the fine print.”

With a sense of urgency, you dart forward and hastily sign your name. Gulping, you scan over the fine print, which translates to a scribbled note from Emma that reads  _ You owe me. _

Yeah, yeah you do.

Spinning around on a heel, there’s a song in your voice as you ask all too quickly, “So, when do we head out?”

 

* * *

 

“Buuuut Arty!” Another persistent tug of your tasset. You bite back your irritation as you turn to face Ekon. “What about the, I mean, you know! That _thing_ you said we’d make this weekend?!”

Because that’s not obvious. Setting your bag down at the doorstep, you squat to his level and whisper, “Sorry, kid. That’s gonna have to wait for a hot minute.”

A scowl. “But you promised!”

Yeah, you did. But promises break all the damn time. Ugh! Why are you being so cynical right now? He’s just a kid, after all. You’re just..a bit on edge.

God, it’s so freakin’ stupid! There’s no way that tomb is Nazarick. How could it be?! You’re alone. You’re alone. You’re alone alone  _ alone alone. _

Momonga isn’t here. You’re all alone.

Another persistent tug of your tasset. 

...You’re not alone. Sighing, you rest a hand on Ekon’s shoulder. “Hey. I’m really sorry, alright? I promise I’ll make it up to you. And I won’t break that promise. How about...Hey! I know! How about I bring you home something really cool from my trip?”

Aayla doesn’t want Ekon to know that you’re going out to infiltrate a tomb. She fears it might give him nightmares, what with losing his father and all. Instead, you’re just going on a trip to Kromerth to fill out some paperwork where your rank is concerned with the Mercenaries union.

Ekon’s eyes light up. “A birch beer?!”

There we go. You hold up a peace sign. “How about two?”

“Three!” Opportunistic little shit. 

You huff a laugh. “Alright, alright. Three it is. Now, shoo. Go get your Mom for me, I need to leave soon.”

Ekon throws his arms around your neck. With a hand ruffling up his hair, you lock the other arm around him and pull him in tight. Man, if that tomb could somehow be Nazarick? You could spoil this kid rotten. He’d have everything! No more hungry nights. No more hand - me - down clothes.  This half burnt house? Hah! 

…Hah. You hold him closer. “Next weekend. I promise.”

“Okay!” Ekon giggles and the sound warms your heart with fondness. Releasing him from the hug, he darts off, but not before looking over his shoulder and laughing, “Remember! You promised!”

A chuckle bounces around your helmet as you roll your eyes. Fair enough. The kid doesn’t have much to look forward to, anyways.

“And what promise would that be, hm?” Shit! You jump up straight as Aayla reveals herself from around the bend in the hallway. Guilt takes Ekon’s face as he turns to the ground.

“Um…” He starts.

You cut him off. “Yeah! Hey! I uh, said that I’d bring him home something from the tom--!? Tom! Tom, yeah, good old Tom. In Kromerth. Tom’s shop in Kromerth. Has really cool stuff. I promised I’d bring him home something from Kromerth.”

Annnd you fumbled that like a bar of slippery soap lost in the tub.

Aayla gasps with a sweet smile. “Oh! Tom’s! I absolutely adore his soaps! Did you know that he and his mother have had that shop since he was but a child?”

...Holy shit. Saved! Thank you happy coincidence! “Uhh, no! But that’s really cool!”

Seizing the opportunity now that the focus is off of him, Ekon scampers off. Aayla takes her place in front of you, adjusting your scarf while she hums, “Want to know something else  _ really _ cool?”

You start to sweat. “Um...sure?”

“You’re an awful liar.”

Oooh. Awkward. This here? This is going to be one of those memories that finds its way into your thoughts when you’re trying to sleep at night! 

Time to try and save yourself. “And you’re uh, a really good one.”

Aayla’s lips lift with a smile as she releases an airy laugh. “I kinda have to be. Goes with being a parent. You’ll learn, don’t you worry.”

Something sentimental sends your heart into a flutter.  _ You’ll learn, don’t you worry. _

“By the way? You’ll also find out that nothing gets past me,” Aayla leans forward. Fingers march up your chest plate as she giggles around her whispering, “ Don’t think I don’t know about that little sword plan of yours and Ekon’s.”

Sharply inhaling, you give the back of your neck a rub. She’s good. “Don’t be mad?”

A smile. “Do I look mad?”

“I realllly want to say no. Can I say no? I’m gonna say no.”

Aayla lays her head on your chest with a smile that could charm the spots off of a leopard. A gulp slides down your throat before you rest a hand on her back. Gingerly, you wrap locks of her hair around your fingers.

You already know what’s coming. It makes your heart feel like an anchor’s around it, dragging you into a bottomless sea.

“...How about you stay, instead?” 

And there it is. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“You know I can’t. We  _ need _ this.”

Soft. Melancholy, like rain from a periwinkle sky. “I know.”

You grab your bag. It doesn’t have much. Another reason why you have to go. This opportunity has a chance to set up many more. 

It’ll only be three days.

“They’re waiting for me at the Union,” You swing your bag over your shoulder. 

“Do you have everything?” She knows you have everything. There’s not much to have, anyways. She’s just stalling.

“Yep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aayla.”

“...Just come home. Promise me.”

Damn. Damn, that stings. How many nights has she clutched her pillow tight, sobbing, begging a god that doesn’t pity her enough to bring her husband back?

You’ll be back. Oh, how you  _ will _ be back. If this expedition goes how you think it’s gonna go? More money. A higher rank. No more bullshit jobs and no more meatless stew. No more of watching her go hungry so Ekon can eat, so  _ you _ can eat.

...and if by some miracle Nazarick is real?

You’ll steal them both away from this middle of nowhere town and give them a life they can’t even fathom to dream of.

Glinting in the warm blush cast by this new world's sun, you throw a hand up in the air as you leave for your quest.

“I promise!”

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